A Fine Romance
by Mrs.Dickens713
Summary: A modern AU in which Charles and Elsie take tentative steps toward friendship and love, aided by Beryl Patmore and (unwittingly) Richard Clarkson. This is a crossover fic with A Fine Romance, the wonderful BBC series with Judi Dench and Michael Williams.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a modern AU crossover fic: Downton Abbey and A Fine Romance. For quite some time, I've longed for a reboot of AFR starring Jim and Phyllis. I can easily imagine them in the roles of Mike and Laura, with all their prickly awkwardness and, let's admit it (even if Phyllis won't), their smoking chemistry. I have taken many liberties with both shows. I feel a bit bad for Dr. Clarkson here, especially after reading and thoroughly enjoying ****_Shock and Aftershock_**** (wonderful, wonderful fic!), but he was a necessary sacrifice to the gods of fanfic. Reviews are always wonderful and help me improve. Feel free to suggest plot bunnies. Unlike ****_Doors_****, I have an idea as to where this is going, but I never mind taking scenic side trips. As has often been said before by better authors than I, these two are killing me with their tender and achingly beautiful restraint. **

Chapter 1

The café was clean and spacious. The two front panes of glass were always scrupulously clean and let in beautiful shafts of light when they were fortunate enough to get sun. The food was good, excellent, really, and quite reasonable. It was also almost exactly halfway to university, which some might consider merely an added bonus, but was the reason he'd chosen this cafe in the first place. Order, predictability, routine. Such things were important, perhaps even more so in these unsettled times. And Charles Edward Carson was nothing if not predictable, reliable. If he'd had many friends, they might have referred to him as dependable, rigid, perhaps, in his desire for order and precision. His life had a very stable rhythm that suited him.

He'd come to the café on a rainy Saturday last October. He'd been having a bit of trouble finding his way around this unfamiliar city and had taken to walking his neighborhood to prevent further embarrassments related to getting lost. He never liked being in the dark, not knowing. When it was necessary or when something interested him, nothing less than expertise was tolerable. Accepting a teaching post at a more prestigious school in London was a gratifying way to round out his career, but the feeling of unease the city gave him was decidedly not. So he gave himself assignments, much as he did his students. _Right, then. Walk the neighborhood until you know it like the back of your hand_. So he had, and he'd stumbled onto Beryl's café, rain-soaked, a little worse for wear, but welcome.

_He'd hesitated at the door, unsure of his reception._

_"It's raining buckets out there," a strident, but somehow friendly voice called to him. "Well, come in then, have a cuppa."_

And that was how it started. Charles smiled at the memory.

He has his own spot now. He was such a constant presence that Beryl had given him his favorite table, the one in the corner opposite the door. That way he could observe (he did dearly love to watch people) without drawing attention to himself.

_"Charles," she'd said (cornered him more like) "I've decided something."_

_"Yes?" he'd murmured tentatively. Wouldn't do to get on the bad side of the woman who cooked his breakfast to perfection._

_"I'm going to set aside this table for you."_

_"This table? What do you mean?"_

_"I mean that you come in here every day save Sunday, rain or shine, at precisely 8:30, order coffee, black, eggs over easy, crispy toast and tender bacon, eat your meal, read your paper, leave a generous tip. Every day. So I thought I should reward you, being my best customer and all._

_"Oh, Beryl, really." He was starting to become uncomfortable._

_"No I mean it. This is your table. See? I've even made up a sign." She held up a red sign with white letters reading RESERVED._

_"I don't know what to say."_

_"Just say "Thanks, Beryl" and have done with it."_

_"Thanks Beryl," he replies sheepishly._

Every morning after that, he'd seen the little sign on his table and it gave him a bit of a lift. He had few friends, really, but he counted Beryl as one. She was right, too. He probably was her best customer. Every morning, 8:30 without fail. Most days he ate his breakfast, paid his bill (always leaving a generous tip), then straight to the university, no shilly shallying. But Wednesdays were different; he tended to linger, then. She nearly always came in for a cuppa on Wednesday mornings around 9.

He knows a good bit about her. He knows, for instance, that her favorite tea is Orange Pekoe, loose leaf, that Beryl keeps in especially for her. She takes it black with just a splash of milk. He knows that she will protest against Beryl's weekly offer of a fry-up, opting instead for a porridge and egg white omelette. Rarely, very rarely, she'll have bacon or a bit of sausage if Beryl wheedles her enough. He also knows she is very health conscious, always fretting about the odd stone she needs to lose. Women are always fretting about weight it seems, and many with good reason, but he can't understand why this particular woman does. She dresses very smartly (or so he thinks, anyway) and her figure is very good. Very good indeed. Not that he makes a point of observing her in particular. No, he's just one of Beryl's regulars; the only regular with his own table. How can he help but notice another very regular patron? He sees that they are close, she and Beryl. He knows her name, too. Elsie. One day he was very lucky and overheard Beryl fuss at her. "Elsie Hughes," she had said. "Elsie Hughes you never did." Or some such. Beryl was always going on about something or other. He seldom tuned in, unless it was to do with Elsie.

_She is an attractive woman_, he muses. She has a lovely smile and a deep throaty laugh, when he's fortunate enough to hear it. And that Scottish brogue of hers. He makes certain to have the paper on Wednesdays, something to occupy his hands (to hide behind, more like). It's not as though he's a stalker or anything. What harm can there be in admiring an attractive woman? None. None whatsoever. It's nothing to her, at any rate. She seldom glances in his direction. Once, she turned quickly and found his eyes on her, but she just gave him a nervous smile and craned her neck toward the door, as though she were expecting someone. He's checked her ring finger: bare. And no one has ever come with her to the café. Of course that doesn't mean a thing. A woman like her is bound to be spoken for. And anyway, he'd never get up the courage to talk to her. It's not as though he could make idle chitchat with her. "Oh, I see you like porridge. I prefer eggs and sausage myself." Bah. No, it was best not to think of that. He had his own life, he was quite content, really. Quite content. There was just something about her, that's all. Something kind. But. Time to be on the move at any rate. It's not Wednesday after all.

*CE*

Another rainy evening, Elsie bursts through the door, turning to shake her umbrella out the door. "It's cats and dogs out there my dears and no mistake."

"Come through the back Els; we're in the kitchen."

Elsie smiles, shakes some of the damp from her hair, gingerly takes off her wet coat and hangs it on the rack, smooths her hair again, squares her shoulders, then sighs as they sag. Oh, she just wanted to turn around and go right home. She hadn't thought Beryl would do this to her again. She groaned inwardly. Beryl was relentless in her search for the perfect bloke for Elsie. Lord knows where she meets these poor fellows; what a parade of them over the years. And Elsie had never wanted any of them, never really hit it off with any of them. Of course Beryl thought she was too selective, too set in her ways. Richard was a subject they tread lightly around. Beryl had no love for the man whom she blamed for Elsie's single status for the past, well never mind how many years. Beryl didn't understand, couldn't understand. She'd met the love of her life when she was a teenager, for heaven's sake. She and Bill were made for one another, and their young William had recently married his Daisy, making Beryl all the more intrepid in her desire to marry off Elsie. Of course her relationship with Richard, _if you could even call it a relationship_, she thinks darkly, isn't perfect, but when it was good, it was so much better than anything she'd ever experienced. It was hard to let go of something like that. When they were together, it was, well, perfect, in its way, and when they weren't together, she managed. Managed quite well, in fact. She didn't _need_ Richard; she didn't need anybody. She sighed again. Best to go in the kitchen and get it over with. She squared her shoulders again and walked determinedly towards the kitchen. It was going to be a long night. She could feel it.

*CE*

Elsie was doing the washing up, Beryl drying. Elsie always tried to help out with the clearing up, felt better about making some small payment towards every sublime meal. She didn't let herself go often (Richard had complimented her figure many times, he liked her as slender as possible), but occasionally at Beryl's she would eat seconds and dessert. It was just too tempting. Beryl was always trying to feed her up, _bloody nuisance_, Elsie thinks with a smile.

"So," begins Beryl.

"So," drawls Elsie. She knows what Beryl wants, but she won't make it easy on her.

"So, what did you think?" Beryl always was too eager for her own good.

"I thought the food was delicious. Your Victoria sponge is quite possibly my favorite dessert, besides chocolate. I always did love chocolate."

"You know what I mean, Elsie lass," insists Beryl tartly. "What did you think of Mike?"

"Oh, what did I think of Mike? Well, I thought he was a nice man, very nice indeed."

Beryl's eyes lit up. "So you think so, eh? I've always thought him a nice bloke meself."

"Don't let Bill hear you. Unless you want Mike and I'll just take Bill. Handy that."

"Oh, go on with you. So, you think you'll give him a ring, then?"

"I don't think so, Beryl."

Beryl groans in frustration. "Whyever not?"

Elsie shrugs her shoulders. "It's complicated."

"It's complicated," Beryl mimics acidly. "It's Richard, is what it is. When are you ever going to give up on that bloody git? It makes me so mad!"

Elsie shrugs again. "It's-

Beryl breaks in. "It's complicated, I know." She throws down her dishtowel in frustration. "Elsie, that man has stolen the better part of twenty years of your life. That's two decades. You could have-"

"Don't," says Elsie shortly.

Beryl puts her hands in the air, placating Elsie. "Alright, we won't talk about him anymore." She smiles wickedly. "Let's talk about Mike. What did you like about him?"

"He's very kind, Beryl, really. He's just not-"

"Richard," Beryl finishes. "Well, at least have a cuppa before you're off."

"Who said anything about leaving?"

"I know you, Elsie Hughes. You can't wait to leave after we've had a guest for dinner. I'm sorry, love, I really am. Bill tells me to lay off you. I just can't help it. Friends again?"

"Always." Elsie smiles, wipes her hands on the dishtowel and gives Beryl a hug. "But I think I'll get on. It's getting late."

"Alright, Els. See you Wednesday?"

"Of course. Say goodbye for me, will you? I'll just let myself out. Ta."

"Ta, love."

Beryl shakes her head as she hears the front door close. _That bloody bugger Richard bloody Clarkson_, she thinks acidly. He's ruined her. Plain ruined her and he gets to live his life, his nice life with his nice wife and beautiful children. Oh she knows. She's made it her business to know. Meanwhile, Elsie turns down every legitimate opportunity to meet a nice _available_ bloke because of that, well she's got no more words to describe Clarkson.

It's not until much later, as she's readying for bed that the idea comes to her. Of course. Of course! She'll have a party for her customers, particularly her most loyal customers. A devious smile played across her lips. This might just be her best plan yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Beryl hummed noiselessly to herself as she moves around the kitchen. The mid-morning lull between breakfast and lunch was her best time for thinking. For a solid week she'd been plotting and planning, trying to come up with a nonchalant way of announcing the party to Elsie and persuading what she expected to be a very reluctant Charles to attend.

She'd decided on a Saturday night; that was much the best evening for a party. She could only hope that Clarkson would be occupied. She'd noticed that, except for the odd weekend here and there, most of the time Elsie spent with Richard took place at various conferences during the week. _Hmph_, she thought darkly. _This would be the one time that bloody cheat would be able to get away for the weekend_. She hadn't been able to decide whether to tell Elsie straight up or surprise her a bit closer to time. Either way, Elsie would suspect another setup. Beryl would have to be very clever indeed to lure Elsie into this particular trap.

_Charles_, she mused. _Now Charles would be the easier of the two to persuade_. It hadn't escaped Beryl's notice that Charles took particular care to appear nonchalant whenever Elsie came in to the café. He held his paper a little more stiffly than usual, turned the pages slightly less frequently when Elsie was around. She'd noticed that he would casually shift about in his seat, making sure he could catch a glimpse of her without being too obtrusive. Funny, really, that she'd never tried to set them up before. She'd thought Charles a bit of a stuffed shirt and she could think of a hundred reasons why Elsie would turn him down flat, but then again. There was that little curl, for example. That little curl that sometimes popped out when it was damp or windy, something that hinted at a different, more relaxed Charles. And his laugh, when he did laugh, was lovely. There was something warm and kind in it. She knew, she just knew he would be the kind of man who would cherish Elsie, who would help her be herself. _Oooh Beryl you've let yourself watch one too many Oprah_, she chided herself. But there was something to that. Richard kept Elsie on edge, off balance, strung her along just enough to let her fool herself into thinking that this was enough, that this kind of half-life really suited her. It made Beryl boil to think of it. Elsie always was a smart one, and good looking to boot. Why she settled for that lying, cheating tosser was beyond Beryl's comprehension. She and Elsie had known each other since they were girls, and she'd noticed lately a look of yearning sadness on Elsie's face that pierced her heart. She scowled and threw her dishtowel on the counter. She would have this party, and she would get the both of them in the same room _and_ _talking_, if it was the last thing she ever accomplished on God's green earth.

*CE*

"You'll have seen the signs, then?"

"I've seen them, yes."

"And?"

"And what?" Charles calmly looked up from his paper into Beryl's questioning eyes.

"And you'll come, right?" let out Beryl, with an exasperated sigh.

"No, no. I don't think so. No."

"Whyever not, Charles?"

"I'm no good at parties," he says flatly and gives his paper a shake.

"Bah. Everyone says that, then they go and have a marvelous time. You'll see."

"I won't see because I won't go."

"But you have to go, Charles. You are my most loyal customer! What will people say if the man who has a reserved table, by the way, doesn't show up to a customer appreciation party?"

"They'll think nothing of it because no one knows me here but you."

"And you'd disappoint a friend? I see." Beryl sighed dramatically and cut her eyes at Charles. "At least I thought we were friends."

"I like to think so," Charles replied quietly.

"Then why won't you come? Just for a little while, eh? I'll make all your favorites. Please?"

"Why is it so important to you that I be there?"

Beryl looked up carefully. _Tread carefully, my girl._ She squeezed her ubiquitous dishcloth between her hands. _A bit of the truth might not go amiss._

"I think it would be good for you to get out, get around people a bit more Charles. You're a nice bloke, but it can't have been easy moving here, getting to know people." She paused for effect. "I only want to help."

Charles sighed. _I hate these things. I really hate them._ But she has a point. It hasn't been easy. "You'll make all my favorites? Even the apple streudel?"

Beryl nearly twisted her dishrag in half with pleasure. "Especially the apple streudel. I'll set aside a whole one just for you. Oh I think you'll have a marvelous time, Charles. Can't wait for you to meet.." She stopped herself just in time.

Charles raised his eyebrows. "Meet who?"

"My Bill o' course," she replies, flustered. "And William and his Daisy will be there, too. It'll be a lovely family party. I've told them all about you."

Charles grunted; he didn't buy that cock-and-bull story about meeting her family. Beryl looked too shifty eyed to be innocent. Over the years, many well-meaning acquaintances had tried to pair him off with various women, but it never seemed to work out. People often thought they knew Charles, but when he was presented with a steady stream of "friends of friends" who couldn't be more different than he if they'd tried, he realized that no one really knew him. There was a bit of sadness in that, a touch of melancholy, but then he'd built his own life. He had a few choice friends and now he could add Beryl to that list. He would go to the party, but he'd be wary. No doubt Beryl wanted to pair him off with a perfectly lovely friend of hers. Too bad it wouldn't be Elsie, but then he'd never had that kind of luck.

*CE*

"You're going."

"I'm not."

"You are and that's an end on it."

"Beryl, I am not going."

"What do you mean? It's a customer appreciation party and you _were_ my first customer. You HAVE to come."

Elsie crossed her arms mutinously. "You don't need me there."

"I don't _need_ you there. I want you there. You don't have other plans, do you?"

"No," said Elsie reluctantly.

"See?" said Beryl triumphantly. "Besides, I could do with your help, now you mention it."

Elsie narrowed her eyes. Beryl was her oldest and dearest friend, but there were limits to everything. "Beryl, if this is about some bloke you want to fix me up with," began Elsie threateningly.

Beryl held up her hands in mock surrender. "I told you I'd lay off, didn't I? It might do you some good to meet some new people, make some new friends…" Beryl glanced up at Elsie's face and hastily backpedaled. "Alright, alright. Just come, help me serve some hors d'oeuvres, drink some wine, eat some pastries and you're off the hook."

"Forever?"

Beryl beamed at her. "Forever's a long time, love. But for awhile at least."

Elsie eyed her friend suspiciously. "You seem awfully happy to have me at your party. Are you sure there's no poor unsuspecting chap who'll jump out at me from a back closet?"

Beryl snorted. "I can guarantee you that no bloke will jump out at you from a back closet." The idea of Charles Carson jumping out at anyone from anywhere was so astonishingly ludicrous that she nearly lost her composure. She straightened her shoulders and busied herself at the counter. _Best not to think of that now._ Better to concentrate on the fact that she'll be able to introduce them to each other at the party.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I should add a disclaimer: I own none of these remarkable characters. I just enjoy putting them in awkward situations and discovering what happens next. Below includes part one of the party.**

Chapter 3

"I hate these things," Charles muttered to himself, tying his tie for the third time. "Why do I let myself get talked into them?" _You could meet someone, old boy. It's not as though you have a surfeit of friends here, or back in York for that matter. Beryl seemed keen on my going._ His heart lifts for one agonizing moment. _Surely she wouldn't…I mean there's nobody that she could possibly think of to…I mean it would be ghastly if she were trying to foist me off on one of her single friends._ He groaned audibly. These poor women, always the worst of the lot (and he didn't want to wonder what that said about him), either strident and opinionated, harsh, or so ground down by life (men), that he wanted to apologize straightaway and run home as fast as he could, to retreat with a nice glass of wine and a good book. Come to think on it, that's what he should be doing right now instead of re-tying this blasted tie and trying to tame this embarrassing curl. What if he didn't go? What if he just didn't show up? _Then there's my beautiful breakfasts all gone up in smoke_, he thinks darkly. _Beryl would likely poison me if I came round Monday morning as usual. This is a disaster. I feel it in my bones. This is going to be a disaster._ He yanks his tie loose again.

*CE*

Elsie fidgeted in front of her closet, debating what to wear. _What does one wear to a customer loyalty party?_ She smiled for a moment, thinking of Richard and what he might suggest she wear. _The daft man._ _Richard_. She sighed. He's probably in the country this weekend. The children are on hols, so he and Helen were likely at their home in York. They'd found a lovely old surgery with a huge barn of a house attached; just the thing that attracted Richard: something old and fine and expensive. _Wouldn't do to get bitter, old girl._ There were reasons he wouldn't leave his family and there were reasons that she wouldn't leave him. She understood those reasons, even if Beryl didn't. And if she ever got sad or maudlin, well, she had her own life to live, her own friends to support her. Well, she had Beryl. The rest were acquaintances, really. She much preferred to work and live on her own. She never did like being dependent on someone else. Her relationship with Richard suited her; when he was available, she could be available. When he wasn't, she had her own thing going. _Like tonight, eh Els?_ She only wished Beryl would stop introducing her to all these sad, pathetic blokes. After Richard, all men seemed to pale by comparison. None of those men could compete. They were nice, if a bit boring, and so tentative it drove her mad, whereas Richard was so forceful. When he saw an injustice, he righted it. When he saw something he wanted, he took it.

He'd cut such a striking figure at that conference all those years ago. Her work as a translator was solitary, often dull. All too rare were spicy foreign novels to translate into various languages or exciting political dialogues to assist in translating. More often it was dull trade conferences or dry textbooks. When Doctors Without Borders approached her, she hadn't hesitated. It felt good to be part of something larger than herself and the pay, while not extravagant, more than supplemented her moderate income.

She'd not expected to meet a man like Richard; she was flattered when he sought her company at the informal mixer hosted by DWB. It really was like one of those classic films she adored. Their eyes met across a crowded room, and Richard strode purposefully toward her. Before she knew what had happened, he'd steered her to a quiet corner of the room, gotten her a drink and had her talking about herself, things she'd never shared with anyone before, not even Beryl. It could be hard to talk to Beryl sometimes, she was so bloody practical and straightforward. Elsie had those qualities as well, and they weren't bad, but there was something more, something that she'd not been able to put her finger on until Richard drew it out of her. She had yearnings, as girlish and poetic as that sounds, yearnings for something more than ordinary workaday life. Dreams, really. Dreams of travel and adventure, and if she were honest, it was those dreams that drew her to Doctors without Borders. And, if she were brutally honest, it was Richard who had made it easy to postpone those dreams. _That's not fair, Els,_ she chided herself. _He never asked you to give up anything for him. He never lied to you_. And she can hear, plain as day, Beryl's angry snort of disbelief.

She sighed deeply and frowned at herself in the mirror. _But none of this woolgathering is getting you dressed for the party, old girl._ She studied herself critically. She wasn't bad, not for a woman of her age, not at all. It was true that she worked at it (some); it was also true that Richard preferred her slender, nearly as she'd been when they'd first met, a thought that gave her pause rather than pride. She idly fingered through some of the better quality dresses in her closet. _What if?_, she mused. _What if I did wear something a bit more daring to Beryl's party?_ It's not as though anyone she might be interested would be there; it would be more like doing something for herself. Taking an interest in herself. _Oh, honestly, Els. You're getting downright ridiculous._ But she reached for the dark green wrap dress that fits loose and snug in all the right places. And she didn't try to talk herself out of it.

*CE*

Charles approaches the café with caution. He can hear sounds from the party already, and there is an uneasy, even queasy, feeling in his stomach. _You can do this, old boy. Just like the first day of class. Just put one foot in front of the other. _He's tempted to put one foot in front of the other all the way back to his flat, but just then Beryl sticks her head out and waves.

"Come on in, Charles. The party's just getting started!" She motions to him to hurry up and he obliges, though he feels an appointment with the executioner with every step. "Come on, then Charles! Loads of people to meet. And I did promise you your very own apple streudel. I've kept it in back for you." She holds the door open for him and appraises him critically. "You look very nice, Charles. Very nice indeed." She smiled up at him. "Do y'know I thought you might do a runner on me? Not show up? I was that afraid. Now then." She put a hand on his back and bustled him in. "I want you to meet my Bill, first off." She slipped her arm through his and is nearly dragging him through the crowd. He hadn't realized Beryl's place was so popular; it was packed with people. Charles could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He really detested crowds, especially when they were all crammed in one small, very small, cafe.

"Bill?" Beryl called out. Bellowed, more like, thought Charles acidly. He could feel himself stiffening up in preparation of meeting someone new. He had never been able to overcome that initial formality that settled over him like a fine layer of sleet in every new social situation. It was an advantage in teaching because it gave students the impression that he was firmer than he actually was. The students who actually got to know him (and those were few and far between) were surprised to discover the hidden warmth and humor that lay beneath the carefully cultivated façade, versus the appearance of cold inflexibility and rigid adherence to _the way things were_, as various students humorously intoned. He rolled his shoulders in an effort to relax; he wanted to make a good impression. Beryl had reached out to him when precious few had in his life. He wanted her Bill to like him.

A small, wiry man with iron gray hair and the most marvelous handlebar mustache walked over, hand held out to greet him.

"You must be Charles. B's told me all about you. I'm Bill."

Charles stuck out his hand awkwardly and allowed Bill to shake it nearly off at the elbow. "Yes. Yes. Very pleased to meet you."

"Well come on in then, I see B's not gotten you a drink or anything to eat. What's the matter with you, love?" Beryl opens her mouth to respond tartly, but Bill was too quick for her. "Come on then, lad. Let's see to the drinks first, eh?"

Bill bustles Charles off to the small bar that's been set up. He leaned in conspiratorially. "I hate these things, don't you mate?" He waved his hand over the drinks, and Charles reached for a glass of red. Charles took a sip and nodded gratefully. He was pleasantly surprised by the wine. He recognized the vintage and it's one he wouldn't have expected Beryl to offer. He was quite pleased. Perhaps the evening wouldn't be a total loss. Bill seemed a nice fellow and with wine this good, he could tuck himself away in an unoccupied corner and observe to his heart's content. "So," Bill said and sized him up. "B tells me you teach at university."

"I do."

"And what's your subject?"

"History."

"Ah, never did well in that meself. Never did well in school period. I knew what I wanted pretty early on and I never have liked to waste time." He looks chagrined. "Not that I think education is a waste," he corrected hastily. "Maybe it was just wasted on me. I mean, I knew I was going to be a sparky like me Da and marry B, so what use was it for me to learn about the War of the Roses? You don't teach 'em that, do you?"

Charles laughed unexpectedly. "No, no. My area of expertise is early twentieth century, the sinking of the Titanic, World War I. That time period has always fascinated me; I dunno why." He took another sip of wine. "So you're an electrician then?"

"Yeah, in the main. O' course I do the odd job here and there." Bill waved his hand around the café. "I put this place together for B. She does a fair bit of business," he added modestly.

"I can see why. She only got me here because she promised me an apple streudel. I hate parties."

"Aye, lad. But the streudel's worth it, eh?" Bill looked up, momentarily taken aback. "Hullo, Els. You look smashing, love." And he reached out to hug Elsie.

"Oh, thanks Bill." Charles freezes.

Beryl pushed her way in next to Elsie. "Elsie, this is Charles Carson, the one with the reserved table."

His wine glass slipped out of his hand and shattered against the floor.

*CE*

"It's alright, Beryl, really," Elsie said as Beryl sponges wine off the hem of one of her best dresses. _Maybe you went a bit far with the dress, old girl_, she thought ruefully.

"That'll come right out, I know it will."

"A red?" Elsie scoffed.

"You leave it to me. I'm a cook. I know stains. Anyway, club soda always does the trick. You wait and see." Beryl studiously applied herself to sponging the stain. _How in God's green world will I get the two of them talking now? Why, oh why, did he have to spill his drink on her?_ But she knew why. Whatever possessed her to wear that dress? She looked a treat, of course, and secretly Beryl was pleased that she'd gotten herself up so nicely. It would be just like Els to come dressed in sackcloth and ashes or worse, one of those awful velvet things she sometimes rigs out in. It's good that she'd smartened herself up a bit. Very, very good. "See? It's coming out right nicely. We'll just let it dry a bit and no one'll be the wiser."

Elsie laughed. "Oh well. I certainly know how to make an entrance. And that bloke, what was his name?"

"Charles. Charles Carson."

Elsie narrowed her eyes. "You seemed awfully eager to introduce us."

"Well, I told you he's my next best customer, besides you. Maybe even better 'cos he pays!" And she was relieved to hear Elsie laugh. "No, no. He's nobody really. Just a nice bloke. College professor. Teaches history or some such down at the uni. He's just moved; not many friends, yet, you know how it is. Practically had to beg him to come. He's not much for parties."

"Neither am I."

"Oh, come off it. You look smashing, by the way. Bill was right, eh?"

"Oh well, now." She was blushing, actually blushing. Good lord.

"Oh well now nothing. It's nice to see you looking so blooming. Enjoy it!" Beryl got up off her knees and took Elsie by the elbow. "That's you done. Come along now, let's see what mischief we can get up to, alright?"

Elsie looked at her quizzically. "What's gotten into you?"

"Me? Not a thing. I'm just so pleased you're here, that's all."

"Beryl," began Elsie warningly.

"Don't Beryl me. Didn't I promise you no blokes would jump out of closets at you?"

"You did. You didn't warn me about flying wine glasses, though."

"Oh, now, don't hold it against him. Or me, for that matter. Just chalk it up to party jitters and leave it at that. Speaking of wine, let's go get a glass." And she steers Elsie out of the kitchen and over to the bar.

*CE*

_Right, that does it. I knew it was a bad idea to come to this party. I hate parties. Of all people to spill your drink on! _Charles fidgeted nervously in the corner.

"Don't worry, mate. It could've happened to anyone," said Bill bracingly, and he handed Charles another glass of wine. "Elsie's not one to hold a grudge anyway. She's a good lass, that one."

"You're sure?"

"Course I'm sure. We've known Elsie since we was all in school. Right smart lass she was, too. Weren't no surprise she's done as well as she has." Bill nodded his head. "She's a translator. Works for Doctors Without Borders and all."

"Well, that makes sense."

"What does?" Bill asked sharply.

"Oh uh nothing," Charles stammered. "It's just that I've noticed, I mean, I'm in every morning for breakfast, you know, and then Wednesdays I've seen Elsie, I mean Beryl's friend. She comes in every Wednesday and she's usually got some foreign newspaper or magazine, German or French or I don't know." He stopped miserably and took a drink. Bill clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's alright, then, mate. I see how it is."

"See how what is?"

"Well you've got a bit of a thing for our Els, eh? No wonder you spilled that glass. She looks right nice tonight. Very smart indeed." Bill took a drink and smiled at Charles. "You seem like a nice bloke. B likes you and that's good enough for me." He finished his drink in one gulp and took Charles by the elbow. "Come along then, mate. Let's see what kind of mischief we can get into."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Whew. I definitely do not enjoy writing Charles and Elsie at odds with one another. Sunnier times ahead. Thanks for you patience and the very kind reviews. They help tremendously. I should also note that one of the funnier lines in this update is lifted directly from AFR. As always, I do not own these characters. I just enjoy borrowing them so that I can make them bend to my will.**

Charles found himself being propelled through the crowd by an eager and unrelenting Bill.

"'Scuse me. Right. Coming through!" He turns to look up at Charles. "Come on, now, you're a big fella, then. Make us a tunnel through there, lad. If I know B, they'll be back in the kitchen having a right old chinwag."

Charles dug in his heels mulishly. "No, Bill. No." He shakes his head sheepishly. "Look, she'll not want to talk to me. I mean, come on. A woman like that?" He shook his head. "Anyway, I'm no good at this sort of thing. No good at all. I should just leave."

"Not a chance, Charlie. Not a chance. Come on, lad! Just have a wee chat with her. You'll regret it if you don't. Besides, I told you our Els is a good lass. She'll be happy to talk with you. Now come on!" And he pulls Charles along toward the crowd.

*CE*

Beryl's got a firm hold on Elsie and is navigating her through the crowd, craning her head all the while.

"Who're you looking for, Beryl?"

"Me? Nobody, just curious to see who all is here. O' course I'm expecting William and Daisy, but they'll be along later I suppose. Just looking is all." And she continues to scan the crowd until she spots Bill and Charles heading toward them. "Oh, look, there's Bill! Bill! Over here!" And she waves frantically to him.

"What on earth," begins Elsie, and then she spots Charles being frogmarched over to them by a suspiciously beaming Bill. "Beryl," she starts warningly. "Beryl, if you've-"

"Oh, hush, girl. I've done nothing of the sort. Can I help it if Bill seems to have taken to our Charles?"

"Our Charles? He's not mine, I can tell you that. And when did he become yours? This is the first I've heard of him."

"Well you should come round the café more often; then you'd know. Anyway, just be nice. I told you he's not met many people yet." Beryl fixes Elsie with a stern look. "Be nice."

"I'm always nice," Elsie says mulishly. She can feel herself stiffening up. _Oh Gods. Gods damn_. _This is bloody awful_. "Beryl, you promised," and her voice begins to wobble.

"I never did, but I dunno what you're so worked up about. Charles is just a friendly bloke; he'll not be jumping out of closets at you, that's for sure." And she snorts again at the thought. "Just say hello. That's all. Just hello." She pauses thoughtfully. "Maybe have a chat with him. He's very smart, you know. I think you'd like him."

But before Elsie can reply, Bill emerges triumphant through the crowd with an embarrassed and ill-at-ease Charles Carson in tow.

"Here we are, then, girls." He smiles broadly at Elsie. "Els, you remember Charles?"

"Yes, of course," she hears herself say and in spite of being angry with Beryl (and now Bill!) at being manipulated (again), she deplores the icy tone in her voice. _Don't take it out on him; it's not his fault._

Bill nudges Charles. "Oh, yes," he says nervously. "Pleasure. Terribly sorry about the drink."

"It's nothing."

"Drink! That's just the ticket," Beryl pipes in. "Bill, Bill. Go and get some wine for Charles and Elsie." And Bill is gone before Charles and Elsie can mumble polite excuses.

"Come on then," Beryl chivvies. "Let's find somewhere to sit and have a chat." She's got them both by the arms now and she hustles them to a private corner. She spies Bill with the drinks and waves him over.

"Here you are, love, Charlie."

"Right," says Beryl. "That's you two fixed up! Oh damn!" Beryl claps a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, sod it!" says Bill and he ushers her into the crowd.

*CE*

They sip their wine and take furtive, sidelong glances at one another.

_Speak up, old boy. Just say something. Anything!_

"Beryl tells me-"

"I understand from Bill that you-"

They smile awkwardly at one another; Elsie ducks her chin and worries her bottom lip. _My God, this is awkward. I'll kill Beryl for this._

"You first," says Charles bracingly.

Elsie takes a generous sip of wine. "Beryl told me that you teach history?"

"I do, right. History. Bill said you were a translator?" He rubs nervously along his trouser leg. _My God, this is awful. I'll kill Beryl._

"Yes."

_Come on, Charles. You can talk to her. Just talk to her._ "That sounds very interesting. What are you working on now?"

Elsie sighs. "I'm translating a German textbook about the urinary tract." _That should put him off._

"Oh."

_Ha_, Elsie thinks.

Charles shifts about uncomfortably on the loveseat. It really is too small for him; he can feel himself edging towards Elsie. He's uncomfortable enough as it is. He doesn't want to brush elbows or thighs, doesn't want to give the impression that he's overstepping in any way. He holds himself as rigidly still as possible. _Just try and make conversation._ "I thought," he booms and Elsie jumps. _Good heavens, man, you're not teaching in an auditorium! Calm down._ He takes a breath and clears his throat. "I thought Bill said you worked for Doctors Without Borders."

"I do indeed," Elsie says archly. _Be nice, Els. Be kind. None of this is his fault. He seems a nice bloke, really, if a bit stiff._ "I mean," she modifies, "I do work for them as well as other projects. And you, do you enjoy teaching?" _Do you enjoy teaching? Ugh. What a question. _

Charles smiles. "I do, rather. I mean, it's hard to get up in front of strangers. For example, I hate parties. Hate them. All the meaningless chitchat. I usually end up running on and on about some anecdote or other that I find tremendously fascinating but others must find exceedingly boring. Recently, I was at a faculty do and I started talking about the Titanic and the strength of the riveted seams along the hull. Most people thought the hull plates couldn't take the stress of the cold temperatures of the Atlantic, but after the wreckage was found, they tested some of the debris and found this to be untrue. Several independent forensic engineering teams discovered that the steel rivets used to attach the hull plates were almost ¾ full of slag and I'm doing it again, aren't I?" He smiles sheepishly and takes a drink. "Rattling on about something or other that's boring you to tears."

_Oh Gods, I can't take another moment. I really can't._ Elsie stands abruptly. "Well, I really must be going now."

Charles stands as well. "Well, I… you must…"

"It was nice to meet you, Charles. I must be off." And she turns abruptly into the crowd. Charles stands there for a moment, lost in thought, turning his wine glass round and round.

*CE*

Elsie makes her way through the crowd. She has to find Beryl before she leaves; she'll never hear the end of it if she doesn't.

"Auntie Els!" cries William and lifts her up into a great bear hug. "You look smashing!"

"William! Put me down, you great lumbering ox." She reaches up to stroke his cheek. "It's that good to see you." She scans the crowd. "But where's Daisy?"

"Mum grabbed her straight off. They're in the kitchen."

"That's just where I'm headed, then. I'm off, love. Just going to tell your Mum goodnight."

"But you can't leave so soon. We only just got here."

"Well, I am. I'll see you another time."

"Wait, have you seen Da?"

"Not for the last few minutes. Check the drinks. He's liable to be there."

Elsie heads for the kitchen and she hears the women chatting before she sees them.

"He's a right nice bloke, just what she needs too. And you should see how smart she looks tonight! I'm very hopeful."

"I'm off then, Beryl."

Beryl looks up, aghast, wondering how much of their conversation Elsie overheard. "What? You can't be serious. It's early yet. Where's Charles?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know," says Beryl suspiciously.

"No, I don't. Beryl you promised-"

"I know what I promised, pet. This one is different. I can feel it in my bones. Charles is different."

"Different than what?," scoffs Elsie. "Different from all the other poor blokes you've tried to pair me up with in the past?"

"I mean different," says Beryl stubbornly. "Different-like. It's just a feeling I had," she concludes mulishly. "And I'll tell you something else, Elsie my love. He's available. All those blokes are available. Not like some others I could mention," she mutters mutinously.

Daisy's looking from one to the other like she's watching a tennis match. A terrible silence fills the room.

Elsie draws herself up. "Right, then. I'm off. Ta, Daisy."

"Ta," says Daisy weakly.

Beryl watches Elsie's retreating back and sighs heavily. "Come along, love. Let's go find Charles."

*CE*

"I'd best be going."

"Nah, mate, stay. You've not even met our William yet."

"Another time, perhaps." Charles puts his wine glass down on the small table. "I really must be going."

"Alright, lad. I understand. You'll come round again? We could go to the pub like, if you're interested."

"That would be nice," Charles smiles sadly. "Well. I'll just be going. It was a pleasure to meet you Bill."

"And you, Charlie. Come round again soon, eh?"

Charles nods brusquely and makes his way to the door. Bill watches him thoughtfully as Charles makes his way into the cold dark night. He can feel Beryl's presence behind him before she actually speaks.

"Why'd you let him get away?"

Hullo, Daisy love. It's lovely to see you," he leans in and kisses Daisy's cheek.

"Bill," says Beryl warningly.

"He said he needed to go," said Bill simply.

"But Bill-"

"No buts, woman. The man said he needed to leave." Beryl is momentarily taken aback. It's not like Bill to take that tone with her. "Where's our Els?" he asks.

"She's gone, too."

"Hm. Too bad, that. I thought they'd have made a nice pair."

"Aye. So did I love."

"Well, maybe you'd best stop meddling about in Elsie's affairs and let her do as she will. You definitely won't mess about with Charles anymore, eh? I think he were right down about tonight."

"Oh, no," says Beryl, and she is genuinely contrite. "I just never thought-"

"No, you didn't. Nor did I, love." He reaches out to put an arm around her.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Course he will," says Bill bracingly. "It's just one night, innit?" But Bill's not so sure. He recognized the hungry look Charles had given Elsie. There was real feeling there, and Elsie just went and ruined it all. But then again, she never did like people in her business. _Very private, our Els,_ he thinks. _And so she has to be, carrying on with the likes of that married doctor._ "Come on, love, come on. The party's still going strong, eh? And there's our William now."

"Alright, Bill." She fixes him with a look. "But I'm not finished with this. You know I'm not."

"I know, love, I know."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks again for all the kind reviews. Once again, I neither own nor earn money from any of these characters. I just enjoy putting them in awkward situations and watching them work their way out again.**

Chapter 5

Elsie hesitated for a moment outside the door of the café. _Come on, girl. Get it over with_. She didn't want to see Charles again, but what was she to do? She couldn't stop coming round to Beryl's. She'd been coming round longer than he had, anyway. She felt a twinge of remorse. She hadn't meant to be so rude, but she was just so angry with Beryl. And Bill! _I thought he was on my side_, she thought ruefully. But she'd seen the way Bill had taken to Charles. Strange, really, for Bill to have done that. Charles must be a good sort of bloke. _Bah_! She opened the door and the bells jingled loudly; she couldn't help but glance surreptitiously at the table where Charles usually sat. It was empty. She felt a brief surge of relief, then that familiar feeling of remorse was back. She walked toward the bar. Beryl was wiping down the countertop with the sort of zeal she reserved only when she was well and truly miffed.

"Hullo, Beryl. How are you, love?"

Beryl continued to vigilantly wipe down the countertop.

"Not speaking to me, eh?"

No answer.

"That angry, are you?"

Beryl sniffed and nodded her head towards Charles' empty table. "S'pose you noticed that right off, eh?"

"I did, yeah."

Beryl threw her rag down and looked up at Elsie. "He's not been in this week. Not one single morning since the party. Why did you have to be so cruel?"

"Cruel?" and Elsie's voice goes up a register. "Cruel?" Who's the cruel one, who keeps introducing me to these same, pathetic blokes over and over-"

"Charles isn't pathetic. You don't know the first thing about him."

"Oh B, come _on_. He was so nervous and awkward. How d'you think it makes me feel when you constantly set me up with men like that?"

"What do you mean 'men like that'?" asks Beryl angrily.

"You know the sort: sad, shy, so shy that they can hardly string two words together. Weak. Pale in comparison." Elsie flinched. She hadn't meant to let that slip.

"In comparison to Richard, you mean."

"Now let's don't bring him into this."

"_I_ didn't bring him into anything. He's into everything you do all on his own. He's got you wrapped right 'round his little finger and you don't seem to care enough to do anything about it!"

"Beryl, I've told you." She looks around furtively and curses herself for doing it. "He has his reasons for not leaving his wife," she whispered urgently, "and I have my reasons for staying."

"Your reasons. I'd bloody well like to know what your reasons are for being alone and lonely when if you'd just open your eyes you could have someone who wants to be with you-"

"Richard wants to be with me," Elsie begins pleadingly.

"All the time, Els. _All_ the time. _In public_. With you. With us!" She turns abruptly and heads toward the kitchen.

"What in the world?" Elsie said. "Where are you going?" She hears Beryl muttering under her breath, then the sound of the kitchen doors banging together. She looked behind her at Charles' empty table. She did feel guilty, certainly she did. Her face warms as she thinks of how rudely she'd treated him at the party. She'd never acted that way towards one of Beryl's endless fixups before; she can't imagine what had gotten into her. Maybe there was a way to make it up to him, to apologize. She couldn't accept that he would never come back to Beryl's because of her. Besides, Beryl would never forgive her, not really. Elsie sighed.

"Here," Beryl said shortly as she thrust a covered dish towards Elsie. Elsie jumped; she'd been so deep in thought she hadn't heard Beryl come back.

"What's this?"

"_This_ is the apple streudel I promised Charles in exchange for coming to my party. He didn't get one bite Saturday night, so I made another this morning." She eyed Elsie critically. "And you're going to deliver it to him. Personally."

"Me?" Elsie squeaked.

"You," said Beryl firmly.

"I will not."

"You will. It's the least you can do after you humiliated him at the party."

"I didn't humiliate him!"

"What would you call it then?" He's not been in since, and likely won't be, unless you make things right with him."

"Why should I?"

"For starters, because you treated him abominably. That should be enough, but if you need more reasons, I can go on." Beryl crossed her arms and fixed Elsie with a challenging stare. Elsie knew that stare. There would be a fresh apple streudel waiting for her each time she visited. And if she stopped visiting, Bill or William would be tasked with the chore of delivering one to her at least once a week for the rest of her life and beyond, probably. Beryl was the only woman Elsie knew that was more stubborn than herself. She sighed again.

"Where do I deliver it?"

"Right, then, love." Beryl was all smiles now. "He's at the university. I've written his address down." She handed Elsie a scrap of paper. "If you leave now, you can probably catch him in his office. I don't know what time his next class is."

"Don't you?" asked Elsie acidly.

"Cheer up, love. It's not as black as that. He's a nice bloke. Maybe the two of you will become friends." Elsie gave her a mutinous stare, and Beryl held up her hands in a gesture of retreat. "Alright, alright. All I really want is for Charles to come back to the café for breakfast. I miss him and so does Bill, strange enough."

"Bill misses him?" scoffed Elsie. "I don't believe it."

"He does," said Beryl indignantly. "He's been asking after him every day."

"Beryl, it's only Wednesday."

"I know that. Anyways, best get a move on. Don't want that streudel to get cold." She came round the counter. "Oh! I almost forgot. Here. Take this with you," and she hands Elsie a thermos of coffee.

"What's this?"

"Coffee."

"I don't drink coffee."

"I know that. It's not for you, love. It's for Charles. It's his favorite."

"He gets his favorite and I get nothing, is that how it goes?"

"He didn't-"

"I know, I know. Fine. I'm off, then," and she gathers up the streudel and the thermos.

"Don't forget the address!"

"I won't, though how you expect me to hoof this over with no breakfast-"

"Maybe Charles will share a bite of his apple streudel," Beryl said slyly.

"Not that again. I'm going to apologize, Beryl, and do my best to persuade him to come in for breakfast tomorrow. That's all," she said firmly.

"That'll be enough, love. Good luck!"

Elsie gave her a withering look and backed out the door of the café. Beryl sighed, hoping she was doing the right thing. She just had a feeling about those two.

*CE*

"I never signed up for this," fumed Elsie as she traipsed across the campus, feeling a perfect fool. She'd walked directly to the campus. She hadn't relished the thought of lugging the streudel and coffee onto the Tube. It wasn't that far anyway. When she arrived on campus, she'd asked a group of students to direct her to Charles' office. When she arrived there, the department secretary informed her that Charles was currently teaching class, and would be free in 45 minutes. Elsie debated for a moment. _Sit in the waiting room with baked goods and coffee, looking like an absolute fool in front of his colleagues and students or lurk about outside his classroom with baked goods and coffee, feeling less foolish. Not much of a choice, old girl._ She asked the secretary to direct her to Charles' classroom. Now she was halfway across campus. Good thing she didn't have much on her plate at the moment workwise. _Or otherwise_, she thought darkly. Maybe Beryl was right. _And maybe this wasn't the time to be having these thoughts, Els. Just deliver the pastry and coffee, apologize and leave_. Finally she saw the building. Thank the gods his classroom was on the first floor.

A kindly young student (_My God, he looks young. He can't be old enough to be in university!_ _He can't be old enough to drive yet!)_ held open the door for her and directed her down the hallway. Elsie saw that his classroom was actually an auditorium. She peered through the glass panes in the door and watched Charles as he lectured the students. He looked so different in front of the class: relaxed. Confident, even. She could barely make out his baritone rumbling through the auditorium. The Spanish Armada, by the sound of it. _I thought his area was the Titanic?_ She watched in amazement; she could hardly believe him to be the same man. Intrigued, she thought, _Maybe I can just slip in. There's bound to be some seats available in the back_. _No harm in that._ She put the thermos of coffee under one arm awkwardly and, carefully balancing the streudel, opened the auditorium door, which squeaked alarmingly. In her haste to shut the door, the thermos slipped out from under her arm and loudly clattered down the uncarpeted steps. Suddenly, the room became very still as all eyes, including Charles', were on her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This story continues to move in directions not previously imagined or outlined. However, Chelsie will prevail in the end. They always do...**

Chapter 6

He kept taking furtive, sidelong glances at her. He couldn't believe she was sitting here with him, companionably sharing Beryl's apple struedel. Of course, he hadn't believed his ears or his eyes when that blasted thermos came rolling down the steps. He'd thought, naturally, that one of his students was responsible and he looked up from his notes testily. He was astonished to see Elsie Hughes at the top of the steps, looking appealingly chagrined. He cleared his throat loudly and most of his class grudgingly returned their attention to him.

"That seems as good a stopping point as any for today. Class dismissed," he remembered saying, and the students wasted no time in packing up their books and beating a hasty retreat. He packed his own items carefully, giving the auditorium time to empty. He'd noticed that one of his students had picked up the thermos and handed it to Elsie on the way out. He walked up the steps slowly, giving himself time to think.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she replied. It was reassuring, somehow, to see her flustered, definitely less polished than she seemed Saturday night. He'd spent an agonizing Saturday night and Sunday repeating the dreadful interlude between them, berating himself for ruining his only opportunity to talk to her, to make some kind of positive impression on her. Oh, he'd made an impression alright. But it can't have been all bad, if she turned up here, out of the blue.

"Look, I'm terribly sorry," she blurted out. "Stupid of me to barge into your classroom like that. Idiotic, really. I'm very, very sorry," she repeated, worrying that bottom lip. He'd noticed her doing that in the café from time to time. He didn't think she realized how attractive it was.

"What... what are you doing here, anyhow?"

"What? Oh. This," and she held out the covered dish and thermos towards him. "Peace offering, courtesy of Beryl." She looked down at her feet. "Look, I was awfully rude Saturday night. Abominably rude. Not like me at all. I just, well, Beryl has this habit, you see, sort of fixing me up?" She tilted her face up to his. "I, well, I just felt, it just seemed like-" She hesitated, her face flushing prettily. "Well, it just seemed like B was trying to fix me up with you, fix us up," she finished quickly. "And I'd really just had it with her. And Bill," she added darkly. "I just get tired of being fixed up with every single sadsack Beryl knows." Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what she'd just said. "Not that you're a sadsack," she said hurriedly. Charles held up his hand.

"I know what you mean. I don't like it either. Being fixed up, I mean. People think they know you, and you go because you think you might meet somebody, and then you find out how little your friends actually do know you." He had a faraway look in his eyes. "Well, no harm done."

"Well, actually there is harm done. Or there will be, if you don't start coming round the café again. Beryl will have my guts for garters if I don't persuade you to come back. You don't have to see me," she added hastily. "I can always come in a bit later on Wednesdays."

"That won't be necessary," Charles boomed, then winced as he saw Elsie involuntarily step back. "Sorry. What I mean is, I think we could be friends, don't you?"

"Friends?" Elsie asked suspiciously.

"Yes, friends. Or don't you think men and women can be friends?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have any male friends."

"Well, maybe I could be the first," and he smiled so warmly at Elsie that she couldn't help but smile back. "Now what's in the dish?"

"The dish? Oh, right. Your apple streudel." She held up the thermos. "And coffee, too."

Charles reached out and took the dish from her hands. "Still warm," he said. He looked thoughtfully at Elsie. "You wouldn't," he hesitated. She looked at him enquiringly. "You wouldn't care to have a piece of streudel with me this morning?" He grinned sheepishly. "I haven't had breakfast yet."

She looked down at the ground. "I shouldn't. I really shouldn't." And when she looked up at him, he looked so crestfallen that she thought _What the hell, Els! Go on, have a bite of streudel with him. Maybe the two of you can be friends. Lord knows you'll not have to worry about anything else at this rate!_ "Alright," she told him. "Let's go."

*CE*

Beryl was pleasantly surprised to see her green Spode casserole dish on the counter, empty and clean. "What's this, then?" she said testily in an effort to disguise her delight.

"It's your dish. I even cleaned it."

"How on earth did you manage that?"

Elsie smiled cagily. "I'll never tell."

"Oh, yes you will. Did you see him?"

"I saw him."

"Well?" asked Beryl impatiently.

"Well what?"

"Elsie, my girl, if you don't tell me what happened-"

"Nothing happened." Elsie takes a moment to study her fingernails. "Much."

"Elisabeth Mary Hughes-"

"Alright, alright. Don't start shouting at me like I'm William, for heaven's sake. Yes, I saw him. Yes, we ate the streudel. Yes, I cleaned out the dish in the faculty lounge. Yes, he'll be in tomorrow for breakfast."

Beryl smiled. "Well that's alright, then. We'll all be that glad to see him. Wait 'til I tell Bill. He's been that worried over it."

Elsie frowned slightly. "Yes, I've been meaning to ask why Bill's so taken with Charles. I can't imagine they'd have much in common." Elsie looks up. "Now don't get huffy, B. You know what I mean."

"No I do not know what you mean. And I can't answer for Bill, really. He just took a liking to Charlie, that's all."

"Charlie?" Elsie snorts. "Charles is less a Charlie than I am!"

"So it's Charles, now, is it?" asks Beryl smoothly.

Elsie grins at her. "You can't wind me up about this. We've decided to be friends." She fixed Beryl with a steely glance. "Just friends."

"And how did you decide that?"

"Well, he just asked me." She smiled, unaware of the soft look on her face. "You know, he hates being fixed up, too? I never thought about it from the bloke's perspective. I thought all men enjoyed meeting women- any woman, any time. But Charles is different." She looks up at Beryl, shaking her finger. "And don't say I told you so."

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Beryl primly.

"Well, I'm surprised myself," she admitted sheepishly. "I behaved awfully. Don't say I told you so!" Beryl shrugs her shoulders. "I did and I apologized. Dropped the ruddy thermos down the stairs of his classroom, by the way. That was a bit embarrassing."

"You dropped the- in his classroom? Oh, Elsie," she groaned. "Well, all's well that ends well, eh, lass? I'm glad for you both. He's a nice bloke and he could use a few friends."

"And that's all we are, B. Friends."

"You'll get no argument from me."

"Well that would be a first. Look, I've got to run. See you later?"

"Yes, love. Come round on Friday if you can. I'm teaching Daisy to make my famous Victoria Sponge."

"Victoria Sponge? Oh, I don't know."

"It's not like we'll force you to eat the whole thing, Els. Besides, you're too skinny by half. You need a good feed up."

"I ate your streudel this morning. Some of it, anyway." And she smiled at the memory.

"Well that's a step in the right direction, love. Just think about it. Give us a bell and let me know, alright?"

"Alright. Ta, love."

"Ta."

Beryl watched Elsie until she rounded the corner. Friends, eh? She had a feeling about these two. And her feelings had never been wrong yet.

*CE*

"So, Bill."

"So, B."

"I've been thinking."

"No surprise there. I can hear the gears grinding all the way over here."

"Oh, come off it. Anyway-"

"You're thinking about Charles and our Els."

"How did you know that?"

"I know you, B. I've not seen you this worked up about anything in a good long while."

B rolled over next to him. "I'm not worked up!" she huffed indignantly. "I just-"

"Have a feeling." Bill sighed. "I know, love, and I'm not saying that it's not just grand that Charles is coming round again and that Els says they're friends, but…"

"But what?"

"But you want everything fixed up neat and tidy for the both of 'em, and we both know life doesn't work like that. I mean, I wouldn't put it past Els to have made up all that twiddle about them being friends just to get one over on you."

"She wouldn't do that," Beryl said mutinously. "Besides, Bill, you didn't see her face. There was something there."

Bill reached out for her. "Look, love, all I'm saying is don't get your hopes up. You've done all you can for Els. She has to do the rest."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you can't make her give up that other fellow, much as you'd like to."

"You can't want her to stay with him," Beryl cried, aghast.

"Of course I don't. But I also don't spend a good bit of time fretting on it, do I? Our Els is a grown woman, and if she wants to be with that wanker, then there's nowt I can do about it." He turned to look at Beryl. "Nor you. Get some sleep, love," he said gently. "It'll all work itself out with or without you."

"But could you-"

"No, I couldn't," said Bill firmly.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask?"

"I've a pretty good idea."

"I was _going_ to ask you to take Charles to the local next time you go."

"Oh, well, alright then. I can do that."

Beryl laughed. "I thought you might. He'll be around in the morning, I think, if you want to ask him."

"Now who're you trying to fix up, lass?"

Beryl elbowed him in the ribs good naturedly. "You're already spoken for, love."

"Don't I know it," and he kissed her soundly.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Finally, an update! In which Charles and Elsie explore the surprising and sometimes conflicting emotions they feel for one another. Thanks again for all of your kind reviews, and I must sadly point out that I do not own these characters, nor do I intend any copyright infringement. If I did happen to own them, they would have gone another way together several years ago...**

Chapter 7

The pub was smoky, noisy and dark. Charles made his way back from the bar awkwardly carrying two pints of bitter. It was kind of Bill to follow through on the invite; he'd thought it extended only out of politeness. He never dreamed Bill would actually want to spend time with him. It seemed they had so little in common, but then Bill was doing most of the talking, for which Charles was most grateful. He'd also developed a habit of calling him Charlie, which annoyed him at first, but then began to grow on him. Someone jostled his elbow and some of the drink sloshed across his hand. "Damn," he muttered softly. He remembered now why he generally refused all invitations to the local. _Then why did you accept this one, you ruddy fool?_ he thought. _Elsie, that's why_. An image of her appeared in his mind's eye. He couldn't believe he'd been so bold as to suggest they become friends. He'd never have done that if she hadn't dropped the thermos. He smiled at the memory; she looked so vulnerable, so different from the icy image she'd projected at the party. That woman was unapproachable, but the woman who tried to sneak into his classroom, the woman who looked so appealingly embarrassed at having disrupted his class, who, frankly, looked quite normal, quite _regular_, even though he had enough sense not to ever tell her that, _that_ woman was one he could befriend. There was something about her. She was prickly, yes, and he could tell she wasn't one to suffer fools gladly, and yet there was kindness there, a gentleness that wouldn't be seen by many. He thought they could be friends, but he'd be lying if he didn't admit that something more would come of it…

"Oy, Charlie! Over here, mate!" Bill was gesturing madly to him. Charles picked his way carefully through the rest of the crowd. "Thought I'd lost you there, eh? What in God's green world took you so long?"

"I dunno. Just making my way through the crowd, I guess."

"You looked a million miles away there, mate."

Charles grunted as he set the glasses down. "Just thinking."

They sat nursing their pints companionably. "It's good you came round again, Charlie. B was that worried I can tell you."

"Was she?" Charles was mildly surprised. He'd not had anyone worry after him in so long. It did feel as thought Beryl might be like that one amiable cousin who always turns up at family reunions. He'd read about instances like that.

"Oh, yeah. Read our Els the riot act when she came round on Wednesday she did."

"She did what?"

"Oh, yeah, mate. We were both that angry with her, you know. She'd no call to treat you that way. None at all," Bill finished firmly.

"Oh, well," mumbled Charles ineffectually.

"Never seen her act like that before. Course I'd never seen her looking quite that well, either. She were quite something that night."

"Mmm," Charles agreed, in what he fervently hoped was a noncommittal grunt. But Bill was right; she had looked lovely that night. Of course, he thought she looked lovely just the other day as well. She was wearing gray trousers that hugged-

"Thinking about our Els, eh?" Charles looked up in surprise. Bill nodded sagely. "Thought so." He took a long pull of bitter. "I could tell from the party that you had a bit of a thing for her."

"Well, I…it's not as though…I mean, we're just friends actually," he finished lamely.

"Just friends, eh?"

"Yes," answered Charles defensively. "Just friends." He fixed Bill with a steely glare. "Beryl didn't put you up to this, did she?"

Bill laughed. "No, mate. In fact I told her to lay off you two. She's always pushing when it comes to Els. Can't stand that bloke she's with." He takes another long pull from his drink. "None of us can. Not that we really know him," he said darkly.

"Oh?" asked Charles in the most disinterested voice he could manage.

Bill looked hard at Charles. "I saw the way you looked at her at the party. Now she was right smart looking that night, but it were something else I saw, Charlie. Something else entirely." Bill gazes off into the distance. "You looked at our Els the way our lad looks at his Daisy. The way I look at B. Like something special."

Charles looked down into his drink. "I don't even know her," he muttered softly.

"But you'd like to, eh?"

"I would," he said quietly. He shook his head. "But being a friend is good." He leans over his pint. "It's more than I hoped for," he said softly. He looked up at Bill. "I mean, let's face it. A woman like that with someone like me," he shrugged.

"Don't sell yourself short, laddie. I've got a feeling." Charles looked up, hopeful, in spite of himself. "Just a feeling, mind you. We'll have to be easy with her. She won't want to feel like she's being pushed into anything."

"Now look, Bill. We're just friends. I know that. I don't want you or Beryl hounding her-"

"Were you not just listening to me, lad? I've as good as said we wouldn't be after her. It's got to be more subtle, like. Me and you can't cozy up too much just yet, eh? So you won't go mentioning the pub and all, will you?"

Charles shook his head mutely. He had a sudden, not entirely uncomfortable feeling that he was boarding a runaway train.

"That's all right, then." He finished the last of his bitter. "Right. I'll just cozy up to the bar for the next round, then you and me will figure out your next move."

"Bill," began Charles. He gestured helplessly. "Why… why are you doing all this?"

"I don't rightly know, lad. Me grandda used to get these queer feelins when somewhat was gonna happen. I get 'em meself from time to time. I've got one now, about the two of you. B's worried herself sick over Els and that's the truth. Here we thought she'd wasted all those years on that blowhard doctor. But now," he gazes speculatively in the distance. "Now I think she were just waiting for you, Charlie boy." He looks hard at Charles. "The question is, are you willing to find out?"

Charles thought for a long moment. _This is mad, absolutely mad. There's no reason to assume that she's not perfectly happy with the way her life is going. But she came to see you, _a small hopeful voice reminded him_. She came all that way to see you, to apologize._ And he couldn't deny that he hadn't felt this way about a woman, about anything, in a very long time. He felt his heart lift in spite of himself. He looked up at Bill. "I am," he said quietly.

Bill clapped him on the back. "Now there's a good lad. Hold up here while I go after them drinks."

_This might be the stupidest thing I've ever done_, thought Charles. _But it might not be_, that persistent little voice whispered. "Oh do shutup," said Charles and he finished his drink.

*CE*

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Are you getting the hang of it yet?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

N8 yet.

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Not. Yet. Bloddy hekl.

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

But you must admit it's much more convenient.

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Nevr!

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Your punctuation is improving.

"You needn't hide your laughter," said Charles.

"I'm not laughing," sputtered Elsie.

"Then why are your shoulders shaking?"

"Are they? I hadn't noticed."

"Oh alright. Alright. I'm all thumbs on this blasted thing. Why did I ever let you talk me into it?"

"Because your old phone belongs in the British Museum, that's why. Did you not hear the sales clerk tell you his Gran _had_ a phone like yours?" Elsie laughed aloud at the memory. She grabbed the phone from Charles' hands. "And look, you can schedule your appointments, check your emails-"

"Bah."

"Don't tell me you don't get emails from your students. I won't believe you. But for heaven's sake don't give them your cell number. They'll inundate you with texts."

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Charles primly.

"And look, you can even get on the internet."

"I don't see why I need a…what was it again?"

Elsie rolled her eyes at him. "A data plan, Charles. It's called a data plan. And you need it because-" She broke off suddenly, studying her phone intently.

Charles watched her for a moment. She stiffened next to him, and he had a feeling that whatever it was had to do with Richard. She seldom spoke of him, but Charles had gleaned a little, a very little, from their conversations. That was enough, together with what Bill had told him, to get a very disagreeable picture of him in his mind. "Bad news?" he asked mildly.

"What?" asked Elsie distractedly. "Oh, no. Not really." She was furiously typing away. "Here, could you take this?" she asked as she handed his phone to him. "Just a change in plans."

"Plans?"

"Yes." Elsie pushed the send button a bit too vigorously. She sighed and looked off into the distance. "I had dinner plans later, but my friend's just cancelled."

"Oh." He held himself very still, but inside the wheels were churning. _Could I? I mean, I could, of course, but would she? Oh bloody hell. Come on, man. You're not a teenager, for heaven's sake. You can do this._ "As it happens," he fumbled. _Oh gods._ "As it happens, I've no plans for dinner myself. We could, if you want, that is, we could go somewhere and eat…together, that is if you've no other plans." _Oh gods oh gods oh gods. Just stop talking. Forever._

Elsie looked at him shrewdly. She couldn't quite make up her mind about Charles Carson. He was very hands off, of course they were just friends, and yet. She might not be a woman of the world, but she hadn't lived in a sack. She knew when a man fancied her, and occasionally, very occasionally, she felt that Charles was interested in becoming more than friends. Surprisingly, that thought didn't distress her as much as she'd thought it would all those months ago. Very surprising indeed. But what of it? She'd mentioned Richard once or twice, just as a means of firmly cementing their relationship in the friend category, and he'd responded accordingly. Richard. Damn and blast him. He always had some excuse that prevented him from spending time with her outside the bedroom. Damn him straight to hell. _I'm sure he and Helen will have a marvelous evening_, she thought acidly. She tilted her head at Charles and smiled. "Alright, then. Let's have dinner."

Charles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "That's good, then," and he smiled.

_He's really quite lovely when he smiles_, thought Elsie, then scolded herself immediately. _You're just having dinner with a friend, Els. Don't forget Richard. Like he never forgets you?_ She shook herself mentally. Lately, she'd found herself questioning her relationship with Richard in ways she never had before. It was beginning to alarm her. She loved Richard. She definitely loved Richard. And there was an end on it. "It's a bit early, yet. What should we do in between time?"

Charles looked at his watch. "We could see a film." He cleared his throat. "Do you like classic films?"

"Well, I suppose so," said Elsie doubtfully.

"There's a Garbo retrospective at the Barbican. Grand Hotel will be on, if you've a mind to-"

He looked so tentative that Elsie impulsively reached for his arm. "That sounds lovely, Charles. Let's go."

He smiled and rose from the bench, then offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Elsie fixed him with a curious stare. She rose slowly and awkwardly looped her arm through his. He pulled his elbow in snugly, so that she was close, but not too close. Maybe Bill was right all those months ago. He was starting to believe in feelings.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I got some really lovely reviews asking me to write about their friend-date, which truthfully I was going to skip over, but these two stubborn, reticent traditionalists won't leave me alone. Seriously. It's becoming a real problem. They keep knocking on the doors of my imagination. Thanks for reading and reviewing; it really encourages me to write!**

Chapter 8

"The movie was a bad idea."

"No, not at all. It was very…very-"

"Elsie, you fell asleep."

"I did not."

"You were snoring."

"I never-"

"People were turning around," said Charles.

"I don't believe it."

"It's true."

"Well, I'm sorry, Charles. I really am. I had no idea."

"No idea that Garbo could be so riveting?"

She laughed, that glorious, throaty, full belly laugh that he tried to coax out of her at every conceivable opportunity. "Well, perhaps I had some idea."

They walked along the sidewalk in companionable silence. "You don't like classic films, then?"

"I wouldn't say that necessarily," and she smiled up at him. "I've never really gotten into them, that's all. There is one, though."

"Oh really?" asked Charles, intrigued.

"Yes, I remember seeing it on the telly when I was a young lass. It was a Cary Grant film, you know the one."

Charles laughed. "Quite possibly I do, but I'll need more to go on than that."

"Well if you don't, I'm sure your phone will."

Charles jabbed her good-naturedly in the elbow. "Go on, then. What else do you remember about it?"

"Let me think a minute. There was that bit about the Eiffel Tower-"

"You mean the Empire State Building?"

"Yes! He was to meet his lover at the top of the Empire State Building! Do you know it?"

"Indeed I do. That's An Affair to Remember with Deborah Kerr. It's a lovely film."

"I remember thinking how beautiful she was, and how tragic; she had an accident, right?"

"Yes, just as she was crossing the street to meet him, she was hit by a car."

"How romantic," said Elsie dryly.

"Well, it was," said Charles indignantly. "Later it was very romantic."

Elsie peered up at him. "Speaking of romance, you've got quite a streak of it in you, Professor Carson, or do they just call you sir?"

"Alright, alright. I know when you're teasing me."

"Do you now?"

"I think I do," he said gravely, looking down at her, and the air about them shifted in that distinctly indefinable way. He could feel her stiffen beside him, and he knew that he'd overstepped. _Damn damn damn. Things were going so well._ He could almost let himself believe they really were a couple, that he really could lean in and squeeze her hand or kiss her cheek. _Bollocks_, Bill might say. _Have a go, mate_! But he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. No matter what, there was still the matter of Richard to be sorted. _But_, he consoled himself, _I'm with her tonight_. "Well," he said briskly, "since I had the misfortune of picking tonight's film, you may have the pleasure of returning the favor by choosing where we are to dine this evening." He smiled what he hoped was his most normal, most regular smile. "Do your worst."

"My worst, Professor Carson?" she replied archly, relieved that they were back on solid ground. She didn't like to think of him reading more into their relationship than was truly there. There was something so easy, so comfortable about being with Charles, most of the time, and she genuinely appreciated his friendship. It was nice (a word she'd heretofore despised) to be able to pick up the phone and make plans with a friend. She had B, of course, but she wasn't always available. Charles was generally available, and if he wasn't, he always made plans with her at a time when he was. It was a nice ego boost, that. She could tell he enjoyed her company. It made her feel good; it wasn't the same feeling that Richard gave her, though. Richard was excitement, passion. Charles was routine, safety. There was something alluring to her about both and she could have both, couldn't she? Charles was a wonderful friend, and he never pressed her for more than she could, or would, give, just as she never pressed Richard for more. _Oh gods, Els_, she thought. _Why do you insist on having these epiphanies only when you are with Charles? Why?_ She was very effective at shutting out unpleasant thoughts, _truths_, that little nagging voice reminded her, but lately, she was having more and more difficulty persuading herself that the life she was leading was enough. _Not now, Els. Not here. You can do this later, when you're alone. Lord knows you'll have plenty of time then._ "Right, then. Follow me," she said, and she turned stood and turned smartly on her heel.

Charles rose as well, resisting the terrible urge to tell her that he would follow her to the ends of the earth. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.

She stopped suddenly and looked over her shoulder at him; his heart gave a fearful lurch. She arched an eyebrow and heightened her brogue playfully. "You did ask me to do my worst, did you not?"

Charles nodded; "I did."

"Well, come along then," she said with an impatient shake of her head. "I'll not spoil the surprise," and she turned and began resolutely making her way to the tube station. Charles followed, as if he had a choice, and sighed deeply. It was becoming more and more difficult to restrain himself around her, but he had no choice as long as he wanted to be near her. He could use every fair means of loosening her attachment to Richard, but he couldn't, _wouldn't_, he corrected himself silently, force his attentions on her. It wasn't enough to be merely her friend, but it would have to do. He squared his shoulders and followed her through the crowd, determined to enjoy the time they did have together.

*CE*

"So I took him to an Ethiopian restaurant as payback." Elsie smiled at the memory. "He ordered kitfo!"

"Kitfo?" repeated Beryl. "What's that?"

"Basically it's raw beef."

"And you let him?" Beryl asked indignantly.

"I did, indeed. He's a grown man, isn't he?"

"I dunno; you tell me," said Beryl slyly.

"Oh come off it, B," Elsie said, but Beryl noticed a faint flush creeping up Elsie's neck.

"Finish your tea," Beryl said briskly. "I've got some porridge on for you."

"Actually," Elsie began, "actually, I'd love some eggs and bacon."

Beryl came to a dead stop. "What did you say? Bill keeps telling me to have my hearing checked."

"Oh come on," said Elsie impatiently. "I just asked for some eggs and bacon. Don't overdramatize, my dear."

"You," said Beryl slowly, "want me to fry up some bacon and eggs for you?"

"Oh for heaven's sake! If it's that much trouble, I'll just have the damned porridge and be done with it."

"No no no no," said Beryl excitedly. "It's no trouble! Just so happens I've some bacon from earlier and the eggs'll be ready in a jiffy." Beryl practically danced her way back to the kitchen. "Come back here, love, so we can talk proper while I fix you up," she called.

Elsie made her way around the counter. _Honestly_, she fumed, _it's not as if I never eat_! _But_, she mused, _Charles made a few pointed comments about it at dinner the other night as well_.

_He gestured at her plate with his fork. "Is your meal alright? We could send it back if it's not any good," he offered._

_"Oh, no, it's fine. Very good, actually. I'm just not very hungry."_

_"Not hungry? You've hardly touched your food." He looked at her intently. "What did you have for lunch today?"_

_"Don't start nagging me, Charles. You're as bad as B. I had a salad and baked potato for lunch."_

_"Hmph," he grunted. "No one could accuse me of going without a meal," he said with a small smile, "and I'm not nagging you, Elsie. I'm just worried, that's all. You don't seem like you eat enough. In my opinion," he added, smiling. _

Now here she was, on a Wednesday morning, asking B to fix her a fry up. _Wouldn't Charles be surprised?_ That was another thing. After she and Charles became friends, he stopped coming to the café on Wednesdays. She remembered feeling awkward that first Wednesday, what would she say to him, what would he say to her, would it feel strange and all that. But when she walked through the door, he wasn't there. She'd been more disappointed than relieved, to be honest. Ever since, he'd skipped his usual Wednesday morning breakfast with B. When she'd asked him about it, he brushed it off lightly, saying "One extra reprieve from Beryl's delicious breakfasts won't hurt me," and they'd never spoken of it again. But it touched her that he would defer to her in this, that he understood and respected her routine. It gave her a feeling of warmth, a feeling that she was beginning to associate with Charles, a feeling that both elated and frightened her.

"Where are you, you dozy girl?" Beryl chided. "Come on and keep me company. So what did Charles do when he discovered he'd ordered raw beef."

"He ate it, of course," Elsie replied. "He's not one to back down from a challenge, is he?"

"I wouldn't think so, but then I don't know him as well."

"Beryl," Elsie began warningly, but Beryl cut her off.

"You know I love to tease, my girl. Nothing to it."

"I'll bet you don't tease Charles like this."

"You'll not know, will you? The pair of you are seldom in here at the same time anymore." She looked at Elsie brightly. "Why don't you come round for dinner one evening? Sunday maybe?"

"I don't know," began Elsie.

"What, you're not busy are you?"

"I might be!"

"And I might be the queen of England," scoffed Beryl. "Anyway, find out whether Charles is busy."

"Why should I have to do it?"

"'Cos you're the one with the ruddy phone and the texting, you daft lassie! Surely you don't mind texting him?"

"Of course not," said Elsie primly.

"Fine then, get on with it!"

"My purse is in there," she gestured with a shake of her head.

Beryl rolls her eyes heavenward. "Blessed Mother, give me the serenity to accept what I cannot change about Mary, Queen of Scots here."

"Me?" shrieked Elsie. "You're more like royalty than I am, ordering me about at every turn." Beryl opens her mouth, but Elsie puts up her hands. "Alright, alright. I'll go get my phone. I certainly don't want to lose my head," she mutters and Beryl smiles. It seemed like things were going better than she'd hoped. Now she just wanted to see the two of them together. Charles was very secretive about the whole thing, refusing to divulge even the tiniest details to Beryl. She knew he talked to Bill, but Bill was just as bad. No worse, seeing as how he was her husband and therefore obligated to tell her every little thing that passed between the two of them down at the pub. But Bill had brushed her off, crying some nonsense about the sacred oath at the bar or somesuch. She laughed in spite of herself. She was pleased that her Bill and Charles were getting on so well. It made them all a sort of family. If she could just pry Elsie away from Richard, all would be well. Well, she'd see how things stood Sunday night. Meantime, Elsie was beginning to eat properly. She'd never tell her this, but she'd noticed that Els was putting on a bit of weight. Not too much, just enough to fill out her face a bit. Beryl had been after her for years to quit nibbling at her food like a bird, but she'd never made any progress. Seems somebody else has more influence these days. And Beryl smiled to herself as she added two more strips of bacon to Elsie's plate.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I have spoiled myself SILLY with all the fab updates about 4.1. Can't wait to see it officially. We are progressing slowly in modern AU land, but these two reticent life-ruiners are making progress together...Thanks for the lovely reviews; they really inspire me, as does the wonderful explosion of great new Chelsie fics out there. Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 9

He was uncomfortably full now. He should not have had that third helping of Shepherd's Pie, nor that second helping of apple tart, but the temptation was irresistible. Elsie had watched him throughout, smiling knowingly at him each time he reached for more of this dish or that. He had grinned sheepishly at her but continued piling it on regardless. Beryl, predictably, was no help at all. She kept urging him on to greater heights, _widths more like_, thought Charles ruefully. He wondered briefly if Richard were slender. He probably is, thought Charles acidly. He probably plays tennis. Or golf. Yes, golf would be his sport. Elsie had mentioned that he was a fellow Scot. He hated to admit it, but he was becoming more dissatisfied with his friendship with Elsie every day. Their partings had come to be painful for him, as she had lately begun hugging him goodbye, sometimes even kissing his cheek. Last week he'd been convinced she'd lingered there for just a moment too long, on purpose, he thought, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. He risked a furtive glance at her; she was happily sipping her wine and finishing the last of her apple tart. Granted, it was a sliver, but still. She'd eaten it and a full helping of Beryl's Shepherd's Pie to boot. He'd tried, he'd really tried not to nag her; he knew she hated that, but he couldn't bear to see her push her food round the plate any longer. He'd gotten bold enough to mention what little he saw her eat at dinner last week, and the fact that she hadn't disemboweled him on the spot he took as a good sign. He could see that she was filling out just a bit; an image of her walking away from him rose in his mind's eye. He cleared his throat and shifted guiltily in his chair.

"That's you done, eh Charlie?" Beryl boomed and nodded at him approvingly. "I always did like to see a man with a good appetite at my table." She grinned mercilessly at him. "There's another slice of apple tart if you'd like it."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, no. I couldn't possibly, Beryl. I'm stuffed as it is."

"Alright, then, you lads go through. We ladies will take care of the cleanup."

"Are you sure, love?" Bill asked. "We fellas could do a bit of the washing up for you."

"Oh go on with you! As if you don't ask the same question after every meal, you daft bugger," scoffed Elsie.

"Easy, lass," Bill laughed. "I don't usually have this much help, do I?"

Charles rose from his seat immediately. "I'd be glad to help. It's the least I could do after such a marvelous meal. I'm a fair hand in the kitchen," he said, looking at Beryl.

"No, thank you Charles. I never allow menfolk in my kitchen. You let 'em in your kitchen and they think they start to own the place. Go on, you lot."

"Well, B, you know best," and Bill winked at Charles. "Fancy a pint down at the pub, Charlie?"

Charles was surprised. He thought they'd all stay together for the afternoon. He looked at Elsie; she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. He smiled back at her, reassured. "Alright, then. Shall we?" and he executed a neat little bow in Bill's direction.

Elsie laughed. "Get away, the both of you." She looked at Charles. "See you in an hour?"

"O' course, o' course, Elsie my lass. We'll be along in about an hour," and he hustled Charles out of the door.

"It's not you I'm worried about," she called out to Bill's retreating figure.

"Safe as houses, lassie! See you in a tick!" and they were out the door.

Elsie turned round and sighed, and began collecting the plates and cutlery.

"And what was all that about?" asked Beryl.

"What? Oh, that," Elsie grinned sheepishly. "I know Bill is only being kind; Charles just isn't used to the local lads, that's all."

"I think you might be surprised at what Charles is used to, but never mind that," she added hurriedly. "No, I was asking about earlier. You and he looked at each other long and hard there for a minute, then Charles decided to go on to the pub. I want to know what that was about."

"What do you mean?" asked Elsie lightly.

"I mean have you two started communicating without words?" asked Beryl slyly.

"Noooooo. For heaven's sake, B. I think he just needed to know it was alright to slip out with Bill."

"Alright with you, you mean."

"Well," replied Elsie uncomfortably, "yes, I suppose so."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm, what?" asked Elsie irritably.

"Hmmm nothing," said Beryl lightly. "Nothing at all, love. Give me a hand with these dishes, eh?"

"You're looking awfully smug, B," said Elsie.

"Smug? How do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Admit it."

"Admit what? That our Charles is a grand fellow? Alright, I will."

"Beryl, come on."

"Well he is, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is a very kind man, but-"

"But what. You don't trip over a kind man every day, lass."

"We're friends," Elsie said firmly. "Just friends."

"Bah. The air practically crackles with the sparks you two generate."

"Oh, honestly! There's nothing between us." Elsie stared off into space. "He knows that," she said softly.

"When's the last time you saw Richard?"

Elsie whipped her head around and fixed Beryl with a terrible look. "Why do you ask?" she said, slowly and coldly.

"Just curious," said Beryl. She wouldn't give Elsie an inch. "You can't toy with Charles, you know."

"I'm not toying with him!" Elsie cried indignantly.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," said Beryl cryptically.

Elsie sighed, exasperated. "What's that supposed to mean?

"You've got a chance, here, Els. A chance at real happiness. You could be happy with Charles. You'll never get what you want from Richard."

"How do you know what I want from Richard?"

"Don't tell me you're satisfied with this half-life you're living! Don't tell me you never dreamed of getting married, having children-"

"Beryl, don't. Don't say another word." Elsie was close to tears and angrier than she'd ever been with Beryl. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Beryl put the dishes she'd been collecting back on the table, walked over to Elsie and put her arms around her. "I love you, Els. You're like my sister. You're also one of the strongest people I know. I can't stand to see you sitting round waiting for Richard bloody Clarkson to crook his little finger for you. I can see you're fond of Charles. You've got a chance here, Els." She pulled back to look into Elsie's face. "Don't waste it on that worthless git. He's not good enough for you. He never has been."

"But-" Elsie whispered.

"But what? Don't tell me you don't long for something else. Something solid."

Elsie broke away from Beryl's grasp. "It's easy for you to say," she spat. "You've got it all and you always have had. Finding someone special has never been easy for me, and Richard...Richard-" She struggled to put it into words. Richard was commanding, forceful, passionate. She couldn't claim to have much experience with men, but Richard was the certainly best lover she'd ever had. He could make her feel things, do things, that she'd never considered, never even heard of. He filled her so completely that she had been content, _no, never content, old girl_, willing, _yes,that was it_, willing to wait out the lonely between times of their relationship because she never felt more alive than when they were together.

"Richard what," said Beryl impatiently.

"Oh I dunno. I can't describe it," said Elsie mulishly. "Just don't try to make this thing with Charles into more than it is, ok?"

"I'm sorry," said Beryl unexpectedly.

"Sorry?" Elsie repeated, bewildered.

"Yes, sorry. I don't apologize very often, girl, so don't make it harder for me! I'm sorry to keep badgering you about Richard. I can see that he makes you happy. I'll not meddle anymore. I'm glad you and Charles are friends and I want you to stay friends, ok?" _That ought to do it_, thought Beryl mischievously.

"Well, thanks B," Elsie said, unsure as to what had just taken place. "Charles is lovely and it's been nice to have him round. I know I can depend on him."

"He is a very dependable sort," said Beryl noncommittally. "Now then, lass, let's get these dishes out of the way. Those fellas will be back from the pub before you know it."

*CE*

"So how's it going?"

"Going?" asked Charles, eyeing his pint critically.

"Don't be coy with me, lad. I saw the looks going between you two at lunch. Right cozy-like you seemed, too. How goes it?"

"Well, she's still involved with Richard, if that's what you're asking."

Bill gave an impatient wave of his hand. "That wanker. He'll be gone soon enough, mark my words. You're with her today, right?"

Charles smiled weakly at this. "Too right," he replied.

Bill slapped him on the back. "Come on, lad! Buck up! It ain't over till the fat lady sings. She'll come round. Mark my words," he repeated. "She'll come round. She looked blooming today. Put a bit of meat on her bones, you have."

"I haven't done anything!" Charles replied incredulously.

"Haven't you?" asked Bill slyly. "I've known Els for donkey's years and she's been keeping herself spare for the last 10 years at least." He paused reflectively. "Maybe more. Pushes her food round her plate. As if that'd fool us!" He took a sip of bitter. "But she ate today. And B said she came round Wednesday asking for a fry up!" He nudged Charles in the ribs. "Who do you think's the cause of that?"

"She is eating more," Charles replied hesitantly. "But I doubt it's anything to do with me."

"Well it can't be down to anyone but you, Charlie! I'd bet top dollar you've been with her more than-"

"Don't say his name," said Charles sternly. "I don't want to hear it."

Bill sat up in his chair. "That's you done for, eh lad?" he asked in a rare gentle tone.

"I'm done for, alright," said Charles miserably. "She'll never give him up. She's made that very clear." He sighed and took a long pull from his glass.

"Bah! I saw her today, saw the two of you today-"

"Bill, stop! We're friends. That's all we're ever going to be. I have to accept that." He could see Bill gearing up to argue; he put up his hand. "No, Bill," he said quietly. "No. I don't want to ruin what I do have with her by wishing for what can't be. There'll come a time when I can't do it anymore, but for now-" he trailed off and stared morosely into his drink.

"Alright, lad, I understand. Just do me a favor, eh? Don't roll over and play dead just yet. There's something between the two of you. I could feel it at lunch and I'll wager B could too. Just, just give it a chance, ok mate? Give her a chance to see you." Charles opened his mouth to argue, but Bill spoke right over him. "To really see you, lad. She's been living one way for so long, she don't know which end is up anymore. But she's different, see?" Bill shakes his head. "Daft old bugger, how could he see it? Look," he said impatiently, "I'm telling you B and I see something different since the two of you've been going round together. Don't give up hope just yet, eh lad? You've gotta trust me. Do you trust me?"

Charles thought for a moment, then smiled. "You know something? I do. I really do."

*CE*

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Are you frei Saturddy 8th?

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

I admit to being good with languages, but don't push your luck. I'm assuming you're checking my availability for next Saturday?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Yes. Are you

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Perhaps. Why?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Some tada at the university. Swunky.

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Sounds perfectly...dreadful. What is a swunky tada?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Gods dqmz this infrenal machime. Come to party with me plkese?

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Well, when you put it like that. What time?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

7? ANd thks.

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Always happy to help a friend. Fancy dress?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Yes. Lokijng frwd to it. Lunch tomorow?

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Can't tomorrow. What about Friday?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Friday good. 12?

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Alright then. Have a good day.

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Youtube.

Charles leaned back contentedly in his chair. He was beginning to think Bill was right after all. He did have a sporting chance.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I lifted several lines from A Fine Romance and sprinkled them throughout this update. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. Again, I neither own nor earn money from these fascinating characters. I hope you enjoy this latest!

Chapter 10

"We're meeting for lunch on Friday, and she agreed to accompany me to some awful faculty party next Saturday."

"Well that sounds promising!" said Beryl as she handed Charles his breakfast.

"Well," said Charles gruffly.

"Well," said Beryl in her most strident, yet wheedling tone.

"Well what?" asked Charles around a mouthful of egg.

"Well, tell me more about this party for one," cried an exasperated Beryl. _Honestly, trying to have a conversation with a man is like gathering hen's teeth._

"Just a party," grunted Charles. He wished he'd never mentioned it now. Beryl was like a dog with a bone; she wouldn't let go till she'd gleaned the last bit of information from him.

"Just a party," mimicked Beryl. "And what's this just party for?"

Some visiting dignitary, something to do with aid in Africa or some such. It's a fundraiser, really, a fancy dress fundraiser. That's all."

That's all?" squealed Beryl. "Just a fancy dress party? Oh you men. What are you going to wear?"

"Clothes," replied Charles glibly.

"Ooh you daft bugger. I assume it's black tie?"

"Yes."

"Oh you'll look a treat. I wonder what our Els will wear? She's not got much. I'll call her, shall I?"

Charles looked up from his breakfast in alarm. "No, no, don't worry," she reassured him. "I won't spook her, if that's what you're worried about." She paused for a moment. "But maybe you're right. Maybe I ought to let her come to me." She was so pleased she looked nearly about to dance a jig right in the middle of the cafe. "Oh you'll be the most handsome couple there."

"We aren't a couple, Beryl." He stared off darkly. "She had lunch plans today."

"Well and what of it? You're meeting her tomorrow, eh?"

"Yes, only I just," he trailed off.

"Just what?" Beryl urged.

"I dunno," mumbled Charles.

"Well I do. So what if she's meeting Richard for lunch." said Beryl emphatically, then she saw the pained look in Charles' eyes. "Charlie," she said softly.

Charles shook himself. "Never mind, Beryl. You're absolutely right. I'm meeting her tomorrow for lunch. So what." And he busied himself with his paper. Beryl sighed. How would she ever make these two see sense when they were both thick as fenceposts?

*CE*  
Lunch with Richard was a slightly different affair. Lunch with Richard was usually two hours long and mostly took place in the bedroom of her apartment. She always brought something in; she wasn't much of a cook. Not that they spent much time eating. Or talking, for that matter, she thought dryly. Richard was very particular about his diet. And hers, for that matter. In their early days, he often criticized her unhealthy choices: the biscuits in the tin on the counter, the packets of crisps in the pantry. In her eagerness to please him, she stopped eating all that garbage, as he termed it, and trained herself to eat more vegetables and lean meat and the occasional piece of fruit. She was rewarded by his appreciation of her body. He often surprised her with pieces of lingerie, some embarrassingly racy, yet she would oblige him by wearing them. She'd been comparatively inexperienced, and, over time, Richard taught her how to best please him. She remembered how pleased she'd been those times that he'd compared Helen unfavorably to her. "Helen would never…" or "Helen doesn't …" She almost blushed in embarrassment, struck by what Charles might think of her relationship with Richard, how she's sold herself out in exchange for...what, really? Elsie couldn't bring herself to admit that her relationship with Richard was solely physical, but really, what else did they have? Richard seldom asked her what she was working on, what she was reading, what she did when they were apart. He was primarily concerned with her availability. He rarely contacted her, save when he needed to reschedule their...she couldn't even call it a date. It wasn't as if they could go anywhere. Occasionally they attended a conference together, but even there, especially there, they had to be discreet.

She'd mentioned Richard to Charles only to make it very clear that anything beyond friendship was impossible. Oddly, she'd never mentioned Charles to Richard. She'd meant to bring him up; she often joked with Richard about the men Beryl introduced her to, comparing them unfavorably to Richard, flattering him, feeding his ego, more like, she thought traitorously. Once she'd begun to know Charles, she found she couldn't make him an object of scorn to Richard. He was too important to her for that. It was really going to visit him at the uni that changed her mind. Seeing him lecturing to that auditorium full of students, seeing him so confident, powerful, even. She could imagine some young co-ed having a mighty crush on Professor Carson. She could see him responding in his kind, gentle way, if he even realized someone was attracted to him! He was attractive, in his way. He was very different from Richard. For one thing, he carried a bit more weight. Of course, he was taller than Richard and his frame was more substantial, but he also enjoyed good food and good wine. He prided himself especially on his knowledge of wine and Elsie admitted that his pairings were excellent. He was also interested in her, not in a sexual way, although occasionally the air shifted about them and she could feel his desire for her. Those times were few and far between, like summer storms that disappear as quickly as they arrive. She'd taken to touching him more; a hug and often a kiss on the cheek when they parted. It was mischievous of her, yet his solid warmth was so appealing that she found she couldn't help herself. She hadn't meant to make such a habit of it. She found his stature and bulk so reassuring that she often reached out for him just for the comfort of it.

But why she was thinking all of this when Richard was due any minute! Normally she waited for him in the bedroom dressed in one of his scanty nighties, but she hadn't felt very confident this time. Between Beryl and Charles, Elsie had put on about five (ten) pounds, and no matter how appreciative Charles' glances were when he noticed her eating more of the food on her plate, no matter how Beryl gushed at how lovely she looked, she knew Richard would balk and the thought alarmed her, which in turn angered her. _What right had he to complain_? she thought indignantly. Selfish git. She actually gasped in surprise as she thought it. She felt such a traitor. She can hear the key turn in the lock.

*CE*  
"Hello, lass," Richard said as he continued to pull his tie through his buttoned collar. "You're still dressed," he exclaimed in surprise. He walked toward the bed, working the buttons of his shirt loose.

"Yes," said Elsie. "I...I didn't feel comfortable wearing a negligee today."

"Whyever not, lass? It's what we always do."

"I know that," Elsie said. "Perhaps I thought we could do something different today," she said lightly.

Richard's eyes lit up. "Different, eh?" He pulled off his shirt and sat on the bed. "Exactly what did you have in mind?" He grinned at her wickedly and leaned in for a kiss.

Elsie pulled back. "I thought we could talk."

"Talk?" asked Richard, surprised. "We usually-"

"I know, I know," said Elsie. "I just thought today we could talk first."

"Oh," said Richard, nonplussed. "Well, what would you like to talk about?"

"I dunno, normal things, I suppose. How is work?"

He eyed Elsie warily. "Work is fine, the same as ever." He tried a different tack. "A bit more difficult than usual to concentrate this morning," he said huskily and leaned in toward her again.

"Richard," Elsie said, "I'm serious."

"Serious about what?"

"About wanting to talk."

"Well, then, let's talk, but for heaven's sake pick a subject more interesting than work."

"Alright, then," Elsie replied, her temper rising, "how's Helen? How are the children?"

"Not that, Elsie. You know we don't talk about them."

"I know we don't talk about them when you don't want to talk about them. I know we don't talk about anything you don't want to talk about."

"Elsie, what is all this? What's come over you?" Richard asked; he picked his shirt off the floor and slipped it on again.

"Nothing's come over me, Richard. I've only been thinking lately, is all. Or would you prefer I don't think?"

"Now, Elsie, you know that's not true. One of the things I love most about you is your mind."

"Don't patronize me, Richard. My mind, indeed. How would you know anything that goes on in my mind when we never talk?"

"We do talk. We talk about lots of things."

"Name something."

"What?"

Elsie got up from the bed and stood in front of him, arms crossed. "Name something we talk about."

"This is ridiculous," blustered Richard. "I can't think of something on the spot, Elsie!" He stood, facing her. "But we do talk," he said gently and took her by the arms.

She pushed away from him. "I'm trying to talk to you and you're trying to seduce me."

Richard released her and put his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll not touch you till you ask me to, lass." He smiled that charming, crooked smile of his. "Is this all part of the game?"

"What game?"

"The game, Elsie, the game. You're not dressed as you usually are, you pick a fight with me moments after I arrive. Are you trying to tell me things have gone stale between us? Are you trying to liven things up a bit? I like to see you in a bit of temper, lass. I like to see my fiery Elsie."

She looked at him coldly, appraising him in a way she never had before. "You've no respect for me," she said quietly.

"What?" Richard asked, faltering.

"None," she continued. "And why should ye? Why on earth should ye have the least bit of respect for me? I've not earned it, have I, by being at the ready all these years, being content to be your bit on the side, never asking for more." She looked at him hard. "Well I'm asking now."

Richard took a step back. "Asking for what?" he faltered.

"I'm asking for more, Richard. More from our relationship. More from you," she said steadily.

"Well I can't give you anymore, Elsie," he said angrily. "I thought you understood that." He took a step toward her. "I wish we could be together, but you know we can't."

"Because of the children," Elsie replied stonily.

"Partly, yes. And partly Helen as well." Elsie looked up in surprise. "I don't love her, lass. I don't feel for her what I feel for you, but there's my work, lass. You've always understood about my work. And she's a part of that."

"I see. "

"Elsie," said Richard pleadingly. "Don't ruin what we have. Please."

Elsie looked at him again; his eyes were moist and that shock of hair fell down over his eye in such an appealing way. Another time and she might, perhaps, have smoothed it off his face. "I think you should leave now, Richard."

"But Elsie-"

"Please. Just go."

"Alright, lass," he said slowly. He buttoned his shirt and picked up his tie from the floor.

"Don't forget to leave your key."

He looked at her then, really looked at her. "I'm sorry, love. I truly am," he said quietly. He took the key off his ring and placed it carefully on the nightstand table. Elsie nodded, mute. She would not cry. Not yet. Not until she heard the door click softly behind him.

*CE*  
Text msg from Elsie Hughes:  
What r u doing-

Text msg from Charles Carson:  
Grtdg paprs. What rudo ing"

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:  
Having a glass of wine. Care to join me?

Text msg from Charles Carson:  
Tht sonds n9ce. Where ru?

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:  
My place. How soon can you get here?

Text msg from Charles Carson:  
!j our i thk

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:  
Don't be long.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I do apologize for the terrible delay. RL has had me by the scruff of the neck lately, but I think I am finally breaking free. I realize this is short, but I wanted to post something. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy this next bit.**

Chapter 11

_Don't be long_. **_Don't_**_ be long. Don't __**be**__ long_. Charles played her last text in his mind on the way to her flat. He played with seemingly infinite variations of tone and emphasis. **_Don't be long_**. **_Don't be long_****.** What could it mean? What could she mean? He'd been to her flat before, though never this late in the evening. Surely she couldn't mean...could she? But she'd given no hint of wanting to pursue a relationship with him. She was always so careful, so deliberate in her phrases and even her actions, though lately she had been rather more touchy-feely. She did not hesitate to kiss him on the cheek or even take his arm from time to time as they walked along. He tried not to read too much into it; he knew Richard was still lurking about. He was fairly certain Richard was the reason Elsie couldn't meet him for lunch today. He didn't like to dwell on it, but it was becoming harder and harder not to. In the beginning, he'd been attracted to Elsie. She was a very good-looking woman, regardless of how she saw herself. He'd caught glimmers of her personality by shamelessly eavesdropping on her conversations with Beryl, by watching her interactions with other customers, other wait staff; he knew she was kind. And in his experience, a beautiful woman who was also kind seldom realized how beautiful she actually was. Then again, he'd seen a sort of confidence in her, too. He'd wondered if she hadn't realized he'd been watching her all along. At times it seemed to him that she would sort of play to him during her encounters with Beryl. That she was toying with him, gently, but still. His heart lurched. _Surely she wouldn't be capable of...I mean, what exactly am I walking into here?_ he thought wildly. _Calm down, old boy_, he told himself sternly. _This is Elsie you're talking about. You know her. You know her._

The tube was taking an age, it seemed. And he wanted to stop off for some food. Before he left, he'd checked that food app she'd downloaded to his phone. There was an Indian take-away very near her flat. He could just remember having seen it once or twice in passing. Food would be good. It would be something to do, in case. _In case what? In case she doesn't throw herself at you?_ He laughed in spite of himself. _In case she doesn't admits she's madly in love with you? Get away with you_, he can hear Elsie say. _Indeed_, Charles thinks. _Get away with you._

*CE*

Charles shifted nervously from one foot to the other as he waited for Elsie to let him in. _Maybe food was a bad idea_, he thought anxiously. _Curry? Oh gods. It already smells to high heaven. What if, what if she leans in close? What if she wants to kiss me? What if she is completely repulsed by curry? By me after I've eaten curry? This is ridiculous, _he fumed. _It's not as if you've never shared a meal, it's not as if you've never been to her flat. But, _that insidious voice whispers, _this is the first time she's spontaneously asked you to come over. And not to be late, _and his traitorous heart lifts at the implication. It's late, much later than they've ever started out before. _You, old boy, are a ridiculous fool._ But he can't help smiling.

_Good lord, what's taking her so long? _He rings the buzzer again. The door releases and he makes his way to the lift. He can hear Bill's voice in his ear. _Deep breaths, lad. One foot in front of the other, mate. _Charles groaned. The last thing he wanted to hear was Bill's voice.

*CE*

The door swung open and Elsie walked it back nearly flush against the wall.

"You were an age, Charles. An absolute age," she said, her head tilted to the side and a lazy smile played across her face. She nodded toward the bag of food in Charles' arms. "You stopped for food. Are you trying to make me fat, Charles?" she drawled, waving her wine glass in a large, loopy circle.

_Good lord_, thought Charles. _She's drunk as a lord_. "No, of course not. I just thought-"

"You just thought I don't eat enough." She pointed a finger at him. "You would be right. Come in, come in, then. Let's dish up, shall we? But first we'll need some wine. What goes with curry, Charles?" she called across her shoulder as she headed to the kitchen. Charles followed her, fumbling with the door, finally kicking it closed behind him. "Not that it really matters; I've only got two bottles of white. _Inferior_ white, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't say-"

"No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't say anything unkind at all, would you? Do you ever say anything unkind? You're very gentle, Charles. Did anyone ever tell you that? You're very gentle. Gentle, gentle, gentle," she hummed as she pulled plates and another wine glass from the cabinets. She swayed as she moved across the kitchen, moving to music only she could hear.

_Oh gods_, thought Charles. _Perhaps I should call Beryl. I never thought she'd be drunk. I've never seen her drunk. She holds her liquor better than I do. _"Where shall I put the food?"

"Anywhere is fine," she gestured around this kitchen with her wine glass. "Let me pour you a drink."

"Oh I don't think-"

"Nonsense, Charles." She turned to face him. "You wouldn't allow a lady to drink alone, would you? Unless you don't think I'm a lady?"

"Of course I think you're a lady," he said quietly.

She fixed him with a piercing glare. "Now don't you do that. Have a drink instead. I'll fix your wine and you take care of the food."

He put the bag on the counter and began removing the containers, hunting through the small kitchen for silverware and linens. He set the table in his usual, precise way and gestured to her to sit, holding her chair for her.

"I almost feel the need to drop a curtsey, Mr. Carson," she said archly.

"There is no need to stand on formality here, Ms. Hughes," he said in what he could only hope was a jocular tone. He wanted to keep things light, he wanted her to eat, he wanted her to sober up. He was uncertain of this Elsie; she was brittle and he didn't want to cause her to shatter.

She sat, and he slid her chair forward in one smooth, graceful motion. "Oh, damn!" she exclaimed. "I left your wine glass on the counter."

"Not to worry, my lady. I'll retrieve it. But first, may I serve you?"

"You may, Mr. Carson. I must say, you're beginning to remind me of one of those characters in an English country house mysteries. Tell me, Mr. Carson," she said in a throaty voice, "did the butler do it?"

_Oh sweet mother of God I should go home right now before this woman kills me_. "I really couldn't say m'lady. Have some curry."

"I think I shall," she answered in a very posh accent.

"You do that rather well," Charles teased. "I never thought to hear anything but that delightful Scottish brogue fall from your lips."

"I'm a woman of many talents, Mr. Carson."

"That I have no trouble believing," he said lightly. "Now eat up."

"I will, I will. That's all I've been doing lately is eat."

"Well you certainly don't look it to me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, exasperated.

He looked up at her in surprise. "It means that I think you look the same as ever, Elsie."

"The same as ever?" she said indignantly.

"Well," he fumbled, "what I mean to say is, that is, when I notice, I mean I do notice how you look and you look, well, you look fine to me," he finished lamely. _Maybe that wine will come in handy_, he thought. He took a large gulp from his glass. "More than fine," he said softly.

"Richard came by today," she said abruptly.

Charles' heart lurched painfully. "He did," he said mildly.

"Yes, he did. It's his day to come by. He has a day."

"Oh," said Charles, flustered. "I see," and he began pushing his food around his plate. Suddenly, the curry weighed about 10 stone in his gut.

"Do you? Do you see? Because I don't think you do," Elsie said and stared intently at him. "I don't think you see at all."

Charles sat, silent, motionless, waiting for her to continue.

"He likes me to be slender. And available. And uncomplaining."

"And what do you like, Elsie?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him in surprise, then she turned her face away. "I think…I think…I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered and ran from the table.

"That's the most sensible thing you've said all night," said Charles to her retreating figure.

*CE*

Elsie was curled on the couch in her dressing gown, her feet tucked under her delicately. Charles sat in the chair opposite. She'd showered and changed while Charles had cleaned up the remains of dinner and neatly packaged the leftovers. She sipped a glass of water. "I'm sorry," she said ruefully.

"There's no need to apologize," he said.

"Oh but there is! I can't believe I asked you over, then proceeded to get drunk. I never get drunk. Never! No self-respecting Scot does."

"There's always a first time," said Charles mildly.

She laughed, a genuine laugh, a sound that Charles recognized and was glad of. His Elsie, the Elsie he thought of as his, anyway, she was here, now. Not that broken woman who answered the door. The question was, what next?

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"What?"

"You looked miles away, Charles. I was wondering what you were thinking?"

"Nothing worth a penny, that's for certain. More like a ha'penny."

"I doubt that," she said quietly.

"Well," he said. "I should probably be going. It's getting late."

"It is rather, but," she hesitated.

"Yes?"

"We could watch a film. The late night film usually comes on about this time. Probably one of your classic films you keep droning on about," she teased.

He smiled. "Yes, it might very well be a classic. It could be your _Affair to Remember_.

"It could at that." She smiled. "We could watch it, if you've no other plans?"

He cleared his throat. "I've no other plans."

"That's good, then." She paused for a moment. "It would be easier for you to see the telly if you sat on the couch."

"Alright," he said, and he stood from his chair. "Elsie?" he began.

"Yes?" She wouldn't look up at him, pretending instead to busy herself with the various tv remotes.

"Nothing." He sat down on the couch, close, but not too close.

She switched on the telly and turned out the lamp. They sat together companionably, shoulders rubbing together occasionally, each turning and smiling at the other in turn. _This turned out to be a lovely night_, thought Charles, and he sighed in contentment.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Don't say a word."

"I'm not saying anything. Not a thing. My lips are sealed."

"I can feel you being smug all the way over here."

"I'm not being anything. I'm not being anything and I'm not saying anything."

"Well, you're not saying anything very loudly."

"I'm only wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"Wondering what you're going to wear to that faculty do on Saturday night."

"He told you about that?"

"He might have mentioned it in passing."

"What else has he told you?"

"What else is there to tell?"

"Nothing. There's nothing to tell."

"Except you called him the other night."

"I did not. I sent a text."

"Well, it's the same thing, innit?"

"Not at all."

"Not at all. Hmph. I disagree. Anyway, you called him. You could have called me."

"Oh, no. I couldn't have taken your unreserved happiness at the news."

"Well, I'll not deny that the news has made me very happy indeed, although I don't like seeing you hurt. Ever."

Elsie smiled ruefully. "Well, it's done now. There was ever only one way it was going to end, eh?"

"You're right about that, love. But come on, then, what are you going to wear?"

"Why are you so excited about this, B? It's not a date."

"Well, it could be."

"It's not a date," said Elsie firmly.

"Alright, alright. What will you be wearing to this event?"

"I don't know. Nothing I've got quite fits right anymore."

Beryl rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, right. You've gained a few ounces, so nothing you own fits anymore. That's all the better, then," she added cheerfully. "We can go shopping."

"Shopping?" asked Elsie incredulously.

"Yes, shopping. Why not?"

"I don't want to buy a dress for this thing."

"Whyever not? If nothing you own fits," she trailed off.

"Firstly, I hate shopping. Secondly, it's just a faculty party. It's not that big a deal."

"It's fancy dress. You don't want to go looking like someone's maiden aunt, do you?"

"Well that stings a bit."

"Truth hurts, love. Listen, pick me up here around 4 and we'll run round the local shops. Can't hurt to look, can it? At any rate, you'll be free now to go more places. Couldn't hurt to have a nice new dress to go to them in."

Elsie smiled and shook her head. "I know what you're after, B, and it won't work. Charles is a lovely, kind man, but-"

"Ooh, yes, you'll want to stay away from those blokes. It's those kind ones who always do you in."

"I mean it, B, it just won't work. There's no…well, we've just got no chemistry."

"No chemistry," said Beryl musingly. "No chemistry. Hmmm."

"Oh do shut up."

Beryl threw a dishtowel at her. "Be here at 4, you. And don't be late. We've got lots of shopping to do."

"How on the good lord's green earth I let you talk me into this-"

"You love me. But I'm not sure we have chemistry."

"Stuff it, B. I'll see you at 4."

Beryl watched her walk through the door and down the street. No chemistry, eh? Bill had let a few things slip, oh yes indeed. Elsie wasn't much of a toucher, never had been. And to hear Bill tell it, she'd been taking Charles' arm, kissing him on the cheek, doing everything but goosing him on the bum. Even allowing for Bill's tendency to exaggerate, the signs were good. Very good indeed. Now to get her into some reasonable dress. She was frugal, no denying that, but a nice dress would be a good investment. A good, long-term investment. Beryl smiled. It was going to be a difficult afternoon, persuading Elsie to splurge on herself. _Oh well_, she said to herself, _you always did love a challenge_.

*CE*

_What in the world was I thinking, letting B talk me into this dress? It's too much for a faculty party, no matter if it is black tie!_ Elsie groaned at her reflection in the mirror. _I look ridiculous. Like I'm trying too hard. This is absurd. And Charles will be here any moment! Oh how do I let myself get talked into these things? Maybe Charles will agree to just make an appearance and leave. He doesn't like these things either._ That was a reassuring thought. _He'll be just as uncomfortable as I am_, and a warm smile spread across her face. _Now don't go all soft and gooey, Elsie Hughes. It's no good for either one of you._ She played with her hair a bit, lifting it off her neck and twisting it into a loose knot. A few curls escaped, but otherwise it looked nice. Putting her hair up suited the neckline of the dress. She held her hair up with one hand and banged open the top drawer of her vanity, vainly scrabbling for a few hair pins. She found some lovely silver ones, burnished, almost antique in appearance. Those would do. She'd just stuck the last pin in her hair when she heard the buzzer. She took a deep breath and gazed critically at her appearance. She would do.

*CE*

Charles stole a quick glance at Elsie, who sat sipping a glass of Chardonnay. He had teased her a bit about the inferior wine selection, but stopped when he'd sensed her stiffen. Right. No more jokes about drinking too much. _Just play it safe, Charlie_. But gods she looked beautiful tonight. He didn't pretend to know much about women's clothes, but, as the old saying went, he knew what he liked. She had never looked lovelier, and his heart swelled thinking that she had done this for him. _Or at least for something that was related to him_, he amended. No good getting carried away. They'd still not addressed the subject of Richard, not that he wanted to know anything about the man at all. He could tell, though, that something significant had happened; she'd alluded to as much the other night. Once she'd sobered up, she'd not mentioned him at all, but of course there was Beryl. She was practically pirouetting every time she saw him. He wasn't foolish enough to believe himself to be the reason Elsie and Richard had parted, _if in fact they had parted_, he reminded himself. But anyway, he was here with her now. And she was beautiful and she seemed to be having a good time. With him. That was good enough, for now.

"What?"

Charles mentally shook himself out of his reverie. "Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I might have been." _Oh have a go, Charlie_. "You look lovely tonight."

Elsie could feel the blush creeping up her neck. She'd seen his eyes widen in surprise (shock? delight?) when she'd opened the door to him. He'd cleared his throat and tucked his chin in that way of his and stepped through. She'd felt oddly disappointed that he hadn't remarked on her appearance, but now that he had, she felt tentative, alarmed, even. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Are you…are you having a good time?" he asked. Elsie looked up at him in surprise. "I mean, I know these things are deadly dull," he trailed off.

Elsie took another sip of her wine. "I'm not that bored. Yet," she drawled, then stood. "Come along, then. Let's have a walk through and then decide what we want to do."

"Well," Charles admitted, "it would probably be a good idea to show my face. Otherwise, no one will believe I was even here."

"Really?"

"I avoid these things like the plague."

"Then why on earth come?"

"I thought this time might be different," he said as lightly as he could manage.

"Oh," said Elsie. She drained her wine glass and left it on the table. "Shall we?"

"I'd be honored," and he gently took her elbow to steer her through the crowd. He heard her sharp intake of breath. "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"Elsie, you're stiff as a board. What is the matter?"

"I…I…"

He tightened his grip on her arm just as a tall, elegant woman descended on them.

"Why Elsie, I never dreamed that I'd see you here."

Elsie drew herself up straighter. "Likewise, Helen." She nodded her head at Charles. "Helen, I'd like to introduce my friend, Charles Carson."

Helen appraised him cooly. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Charles." She turned her attention back to Elsie. "And what brings you to this marvelous event?"

"Charles invited me."

"Oh, really?"

Charles was beginning to be annoyed by this woman. There was something so smug, almost menacing in her attitude. "Yes, Elsie was kind enough to agree to be my guest. I'm on the faculty here."

"Ah, I see."

"Well, you're looking lovely, my dear." Helen looked at Elsie critically. "I can see you've filled out-" and here she let a very awkward pause hang in the air "some."

Charles was nearly quivering with rage, but he managed to control his voice. "I couldn't agree more, madam. I've known Elsie for quite some time now, and I've never seen her look lovelier. And what, may I ask, brings you to this event?"

"I'm accompanying my husband-"

"Ah, I see," he volleyed back.

"What do you see?"

"Only I wondered. I couldn't imagine your being on the faculty here, but then perhaps you have other talents. Did you know Elsie speaks five languages?" he asked conversationally. "She's a translator," he added proudly.

"I think you might be surprised what I know about Elsie," Helen said quietly.

Elsie was mute, absolutely unable to speak and Charles could sense that he'd stumbled into something much deeper than running across an unspeakably rude woman at a cocktail party. Charles drew himself up to his full height; "If you'll excuse us, madam, we've somewhere else to be."

"Don't you want to say hello to Richard?"

Charles turned to Elsie, but she was stone, no glass: fine and valuable and in need of protection. He turned his gaze toward Helen. "No, I don't think we do."

"But-" Helen began.

"I think you've caused enough mischief this evening, Mrs.?" He let the question hang in the air.

"Clarkson."

"Yes, Mrs. Clarkson." He said her name with perfect disdain. "It's time we were going."

"You don't know anything about her!" Helen shrieked. She was beginning to lose her composure.

"On the contrary, madam, I know more about Ms. Hughes than you might think. Good evening to you." He turned Elsie smartly to the left and guided her through the crowd to the exit, all the while letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. There was a small alcove near the door; he steered them in there. He wanted to see her face; he wanted to be sure she was alright. "Elsie?" he said gently.

She took a shaky breath. "Well, that was unexpected. I…thank you," she said softly.

"There's no need to thank me. What an awful woman."

"You could say the same of me."

"You're nothing like her!" Charles said indignantly.

"Charles, that was Richard's wife!"

"I know."

"How did you-"

"Does it matter? I couldn't let her speak to you that way, Elsie. No matter what."

She looked up at him; his eyes were so kind. He was so kind. She took a step forward and pressed her lips against his. He ran his hands up her arms, then pulled back abruptly.

"Don't," he muttered in a strangled voice. He held her firmly by the shoulders. "Not unless you mean it."

She put her hands on his chest and kissed him again. This time, he didn't pull away.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I'm not sure exactly how this happened. The next chapter will be all Chelsie.**

Chapter 13

"Sooooo."

"So."

"So you kissed him."

"I did."

"And?"

"And?"

"Don't be coy with me, lass. You kissed him. Then what happened?"

"Why would you think something happened?"

Beryl leaned over the counter dangerously. "Don't toy with me, girl. I'll have your guts for garters. I want every gory detail. Every last one."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you. There aren't any gory details!" Elsie said, exasperated.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we kissed. That's all," she said primly.

"That's all?"

"That's all," Elsie said firmly.

"Oh."

"He says he wants to court me." Elsie looked at Beryl questioningly.

"Quite right, too," said Beryl approvingly.

"But I thought-"

"I know what you thought, m'lady. We weren't sure what he thought, though I had an idea. He puts a value on you."

"Value?" scoffed Elsie.

"Tell me this. Did he kiss you first or did you kiss him?"

Elsie hesitated. "I kissed him."

"I thought as much," she said smugly. "I'll say it again: he values you. He puts more value on you than you do your own self."

Elsie stared into her cup of tea, lost in thought.

"That's a thought that should bring a smile to your face, love," Beryl said gently. "I always fancied Charles Carson a gentleman even before I really got to know him, but now," she trailed off.

"Now what?"

"Well, now he's set his intentions, see? He's treating you as he thinks you deserve to be treated, the way you really do deserve to be treated. Finally! Thank the gods; it's only taken twenty some-odd years."

Elsie looked alarmed. "Don't get too carried away, Beryl! It was only a kiss."

"Only a kiss? Just one?"

Elsie smiled softly. "Well, it was a long one."

"And you've made plans?"

"For?"

"I don't know…dinner, a movie, dancing-"

"Dancing," shrieked Elsie with laughter. "I very much doubt you could get Charles Carson to dance."

"I very much doubt anyone else but you could get Charles Carson dancing," retorted Beryl. She wagged her finger in Elsie's face. "Don't you go breaking his heart, d'ya hear me?"

Elsie pulled back, shocked. "Why on earth would you say that?"

"I don't know, but somehow you don't seem to be taking this seriously."

"Well, how should I behave, according to you?"

"For starters, I'd like to see more of a twinkle in your eye, my girl." Beryl cut her eyes over to Elsie. "Is he a good kisser?" she asked slyly.

Elsie straightened her back and fixed Beryl with a steely glare.

"You can give me that look all you like; it won't work on me. I asked you a question. Did you enjoy kissing Charles?"

Elsie tilted her head to the side. "I did," she said quietly. "Only, he's not as, it's just different from-"

"Don't you dare compare Charles to Richard. Don't you dare."

"What?" asked Elsie, shocked.

"I mean it, Els. Charles is a thousand times better than Richard, in every way."

"Well then, why don't you date him?"

"Because he doesn't love me, you silly ass!"

Elsie was too surprised to reply.

"Cat got your tongue, eh? He loves you Els, it's plain as day. Don't tell me you don't know it. I'm glad, as glad as can be that you've finally given Charles a chance, but don't compare him to something that never was real. Don't break his heart. It would kill him. And me," she added as an afterthought.

"Oh, Beryl, don't be so dramatic," said Elsie. "He can't be in love with me."

"Can't he?" asked Beryl quietly.

"Well," said Elsie, flustered. "It's late. I really must be going."

"Don't go yet, Els," pleaded Beryl. "I know I spoke out of turn. I just worry, you know? I worry about the both of you, together and apart." She reached out for Elsie's hand. "I just want you to be happy. And I want Charles to be happy. I don't see why you can't be happy together."

"I don't know."

"Do you care for him?"

"Of course I do," said Elsie indignantly. "Of course I care about him. I'm not in love with him-"

"Yet," said Beryl mischievously.

Elsie stuck her tongue out at Beryl.

"You're being ridiculous!" chided Beryl.

"Me?" Elsie asked indignantly. "I'm not the one picking out a single headstone for God's sake!"

"What a morbid thought! Good lord, Elsie. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. It's just…I don't know." She gave a frustrated sigh, jumped out of her chair and began pacing. "I just don't want to be pushed, B. I don't want to be pushed or pulled or forced into anything anymore. I gave up so much of my life for Richard. I don't want to make the same mistake right out of the gate."

Beryl crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I see. So you're blaming Charles for another man's mistake."

"That's not it at all! You're twisting my words." She turned and looked at Beryl fiercely. "We had one kiss. One kiss, Beryl. It doesn't mean anything."

"I doubt Charles'll agree with you. And I don't either, for what it's worth."

"Oh you don't understand."

"I understand more than you think," said Beryl angrily. "If I think you're playing about with Charles, I'll…I'll-"

"You'll what? You threw us together at every opportunity. You practically forced us together."

"That's not true," shouted Beryl.

Bill came in through the kitchen. "What's all this, then? Why are my two best girls at each other's throats?"

"It's nothing, Bill. I've got to go."

"I'm sure," said Beryl icily. "We're not through with this, you know. Not by a long chalk."

Elsie glared at her angrily, grabbed her coat and purse and strode out the door, letting it shut behind her with a bang.

"What was that all about?" asked Bill, and Beryl burst into tears. Bill gathered her up in his arms. "There now, love. It can't be as bad as all that. Hush now, love."

"You don't understand," sobbed Beryl. "I've made a right mess of things, I have."

"You?" He leaned back and looked down at his wife affectionately. "I'll not believe that. What's gotten into the two of you now?"

"I just kept on after her about Charles."

"Oh, love," Bill said ruefully.

"See? I told you."

"Well, now. You two have had your differences over the years. I'm sure it'll all smooth over."

"I dunno, Bill. She was right prickly about him this time."

"Who? Our Charlie?"

"Who else?"

"Well I take that as a good sign, then."

"You do? But she's not sure he's the one."

"And why should she be, love?"

Beryl pushed away from Bill and looked at him quizzically. "Why shouldn't she be?"

"Here now, I can see you've got your back up. Look, it's early days yet. And Elsie's a grown woman with her own mind, love. You can't make her do something you want-" and Beryl opened her mouth to interrupt, but Bill signaled to her to let him finish, "even though you think it's best for her. Even if you know it is. She's got to find that out for herself." He paused for a moment. "And so does our Charlie."

Beryl sighed. "Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"I think she'll be calling you before she even makes it home, love. Don't you fret."

Beryl smiled weakly and dabbed her eyes with her apron. "A right mess I've made of things. Why can't I just leave well enough alone?"

Bill laughed good naturedly. "It's not in your nature, love, and I wouldn't love you near as much if you could." He kissed her soundly on the mouth. "Now then, how 'bout a nice cuppa, eh lass?"

"Alright, love." She turned to go back to the kitchen, and Bill popped her lightly on the behind.

"You'll pay for that and no mistake."

Bill grinned hugely. "I hope so, love. I surely do hope so."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Charles fussed with the place settings. He wanted everything to be perfect this evening. He'd invited Elsie over for dinner. He was no bad hand in the kitchen, and tonight would be the first time he'd cooked for her. She'd agreed to come round at 7. It irked him that she was meeting him here, rather than allowing him to pick her up and escort her back to his flat, but she'd laughed heartily at the suggestion.

_"Oh for heaven's sake, Charles. You can carry a thing to far, you know. It makes no sense for you to come all the way out here to pick me up and then ride all the way back to your flat. Apart from all the other inconveniences, your lovely dinner will be ruined. I'll be fine."_

He smiled warmly at the memory. He did so love her pragmatic independence, although he was determined to escort her home. He would brook no opposition on that score. He checked the time: 6:30. Elsie was punctual, yet another courtesy he admired. People were often so careless with other people's time these days. His students in particular were maddeningly frustrating in this regard. Each student seemed to labor under the impression that he or she was the sun in Charles' Carson's sky, that he waited with baited breath for each miraculous utterance. Ah, well. He knew he was getting on, certainly set in his ways. He remembered, vaguely, some of the passion of his youth, and he was pleased to note that Elsie had a definite effect on him. He was, without doubt, very attracted to her, and he wanted very much to share her bed, but a greater desire was holding him back. He couldn't articulate, at least at that moment, why he had said he wanted to court her. It wasn't a conscious utterance; it had surprised him as much as it had astonished Elsie. He sensed, when she had pressed against him that night, a whisper of desire from her. He knew she would not have objected to spending the night with him, and while that notion delighted one part of him, it troubled another. While he did not hold with those antiquated, restrictive codes of conduct for women, and he certainly passed no judgement on Elsie's past, he wanted more from her than merely a physical relationship. That night, he allowed himself to deepen their kiss, but he broke away from her first, looked her in the eye and asked if she would permit him to court her. She was taken aback, flustered even, and nodded her head mutely in agreement. _"Very good,"_ he'd said, much more formally than he had intended, then took her by the elbow and steered her out of that godawful party. The memory of that woman's abuse still had the power to enrage him, but he shook that off. _No need to dwell on that tonight, old boy_, he thought. This would be their first official date, in his mind at least. He wanted every detail to be perfect. He'd briefly considered waiting at the tube station to escort her to his flat, then thought better of it. Much as it galled him to allow her walk the final block and a half, he admitted his attention to detail bordered on overkill. He didn't want to overwhelm her right out of the gate. One final check on dinner, then he would simply wait until the buzzer rang.

*CE*

The remains of dinner lay untouched on the kitchen table. The candles threw shadows against the low lit walls. Charles' flat was a true gem: a warm open space in an older building that had been skillfully and lovingly renovated. He was fortunate enough to have a fireplace, and, although it wasn't quite cool enough yet to justify a fire, he was looking forward to many evening cozes on the sofa with Elsie. _Gods, man_, he thought. _You're actually starting to make your own self sick. Get away with you_, he could hear Beryl say. And Elsie, too, for that matter. But he thought Bill might understand.

He risked a sideways glance at Elsie. She looked lovely, as usual. She was wearing a sweater that consisted of some soft material, he couldn't be sure what, in a color that made her eyes seem more brilliantly blue than usual. She'd seemed apprehensive when she first arrived, but Charles' brisk manner soon put her at ease. He settled her in with a glass of wine and some excellent cheese that went very nicely with it, then began putting the finishing touches on their meal.

"It smells heavenly, Charles. I didn't know you cooked."  
"It's not something I do very often; haven't the need, really, what with all the takeout. But one does get tired of restaurants, even in the infinite culinary landscape of London."

"Then you only cook on special occasions?" she had asked him, the light teasing tone in her voice belying the anxiety he sensed underneath.

"I wouldn't say only, although this does qualify as a special occasion," he remarked quietly.

She'd looked away from him then, busying herself by sipping her wine and meandering around the front room of the flat, examining his bookshelves, the art on the walls. She'd been very quiet throughout their meal. He'd tried to entertain her with amusing teaching stories and he'd tried to draw her out by asking about her work, but he sensed that was a sensitive topic and sensibly let the conversation lull between them. He felt curiously calm; he didn't feel the need to fill the white space with meaningless chatter. He was willing to wait for her to feel comfortable enough to discuss whatever it was that was bothering her. They sat in companionable silence for a few more moments. Charles noticed her glass was empty.

"Care for more wine?" he asked.

Elsie, shaken from her reverie, nodded her head. "It's very good, Charles. Everything has been wonderful."

A sudden chill gripped his heart. Those words, spoken in that tone, had all the comfort of a Dear John letter. _It's not you, it's me._ How often had he heard that? Often enough. He poured the remaining wine in her glass and willed his hand not to shake.

_Ah well. Best to see where you stand._ "You seem awfully quiet, Elsie. Is anything troubling you?"

She looked at him with an expression in her eyes that he couldn't qualify. "Beryl and I had a bit of a row the other day."

His heart rate slowed to a more normal, manageable pace. "What about?" he asked mildly.

"You."

Damn. There went his heart rate again. "Me?" and he hoped he didn't sound as undignified as he feared.

She smiled. "Yes, you. Beryl, she, well, we were…" She struggled to find the right words.

"Beryl was being Beryl?"

Elsie looked at him gratefully. "Yes! That's exactly it! Beryl was being Beryl."

Charles waited another beat before offering up another question. At this rate, it would take hours to find out what the two women had argued about. "I take it Beryl was being Beryl about us?"

Elsie nodded her head. "But that's the thing. I'm not sure there is an us."

Charles tightened his grip on his wine glass and waited for his heart to unclench. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Nor am I," said Elsie, exasperated. She turned to face him on the sofa. "That evening, at the faculty party, when we ran into Helen," she qualified, as if he could forget that night. He grunted in assent. "You handled her superbly, you made me feel so _safe_ and you got us out of there before something truly awful happened." She shuddered involuntarily. "I wanted to kiss you," she said softly. "And I wanted you to kiss me back." She looked up at him through her lashes and he was gone. He would do whatever it took to have this woman in his life. He nodded mutely. "And Beryl, well, you know how she is." Elsie had the grace to look sheepish. "She wanted details, all the details, so I told her how it went, what happened and all, and she…well, she…"

_For God's sake, spit it out, woman_, Charles thought, but managed to hold on to his composure. "She what?" he said, as gently as he could.

Elsie squirmed uncomfortably. "She's just so pushy sometimes! She's been pushing at me for years and now that I've finally done what she wants," and she dipped her head in embarrassed, but unspoken acknowledgement of Richard, "she's so happy and she wants more. She wants me to, to, well to fling myself at you."

Charles laughed; he couldn't help it. Elsie stared at him indignantly. "What's so funny about that?"

"I dunno," he said, still laughing. "I thought you were about to tell me to push off."

"Well that's just it," she replied and his laughter dried up as suddenly as it appeared.

He turned toward her. "What do you mean, Elsie?" he asked her gravely.

"I mean that I've just spent the better part of twenty years in…well I can't even call it a relationship, can I? I mean a relationship has give and take, right? A relationship is being with someone all the time, not just part of the time, in secret. I just, I just don't know what I want and Beryl keeps pushing and all the while you've been so lovely, Charles. You're just there. You don't ask anything of me." She fixed him with a piercing stare. "But you want something from me, all the same," she said quietly. "And I'm not sure I can give it to you," she finished softly.

Charles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He set his wine glass down and scrubbed his eyes with his hand. "What I want," he said quietly, "is to-"

"To court me, I know," said Elsie.

"Will you let me tell it?"

Elsie nodded her assent mutely.

"I do want to court you. You might think me old-fashioned, a stick in the mud," and here Elsie shakes her head, but there was a slight gleam in her eye. Very slight, but Charles could see it. "Well, you'd be the first who hadn't. Anyway, I think you know that I'm fond of you," he said quietly. "I'm attracted to you," _Gods this was excruciating! _"I just want to be with you, Elsie. I want to meet up for a cup of coffee, a movie, whatever it is that people do together, that _couples_ do together. I want to be able to ring you and know that you'll make space for me in your life. That you'll be available for me. I want to be your friend, but I want something more, too. I don't want to pressure you and I don't have expectations-"

"Ha," scoffed Elsie, but she was smiling, so he smiled too.

"Well, not many," he finished sheepishly. "I just…I just want to take each day as it comes, that's all. Can you do that? Can we do that?"

Elsie was silent for a moment. _You have a tendency to overthink things, my girl. Nothing has to be resolved tonight. You can take things slow. He knows you, Els. He knows you and you know that._ She looked up at him and his face was so tentatively hopeful that it broke her heart. "We can do that," she said softly.

His face broke into a huge grin. "Well that's alright then." He settled back into the couch cushions and put his hands awkwardly on his knees. She looked at him, really looked at him, for a long moment, then she slid her hand over the top of one of his and squeezed it gently.

"I might like this courting business," she said cheekily.

"That's the plan, my dear," he said, and squeezed her hand.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I just don't even know how this happened. A short update now, and I *hope* to have another update posted this weekend. I lifted some lines from AFR here; I just couldn't resist. Thanks so much for your comments. I've not taken the time to respond personally, but they mean so much and they really encourage me to polish my writing. These two are KILLING me this season with their pregnant pauses, adorable looks and smoldering sass. H.E.L.P. **

Chapter 15

"So, that's basically where we are."

"Right." Bill took a long pull from his pint of bitter. _Ye gods, he thought. I didn't sign up for this! Our Els should be talking this over with B. _

"I mean, I know I shouldn't talk to you about any of this-"

Bill clapped him on the back. "'Salright, lad."

"I just didn't have anyone else. I dunno what to do."

"Well have you talked to Els about it?"

Charles looked up from his pint, horrorstruck. "Gods, no! She's, well she's…I mean you know how she is…and me. Well, I mean-" He looked up sheepishly. "It's been a long time." He paused thoughtfully. "A long time."

"So you want to…take things to the next level," said Bill delicately, "but you don't know how. That about it?"

Charles nodded glumly.

_Good grief. This is worse than when I had to talk to young William. I mean, then I kind of knew what I was doing_, thought Bill. _Gods, B'll never believe this. She won't_. "Have you…I mean, you've kissed her, eh?"

"Yes."

"A good bit, then?" _Oh sweet mother of God help me_.

"You could say that, I suppose."

"And she's happy with it all?"

Charles cleared his throat. "She seems to be, yes."

"And you don't just let nature take its course, then?" He takes another, longer pull. At this rate, he'll need another pint in the next few minutes.

"Well, I hadn't wanted to pressure her, you know," he finished lamely.

"Sounds to me like you've just got the jitters is all, lad. You'll be fine. Just relax about it and it'll take care of itself."

"But that's the thing. I don't think it will take care of itself."

"Whaddya mean?"

Charles shifted in his seat and took another drink. "I mean I want to, and I think we're getting close and then I can't."

"Oh."

"Too right."

"What does our Els say about it?"

"You don't think I've told her do you?" Charles asked incredulously.

"I shouldn't think you'd have to tell her anything. I'd have thought she'd have known!"

"Well, I've just been sort of putting her off."

"Putting her off? How are you doing that?"

"Just putting a stop to things, I suppose." Charles scrubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

"Oh, lad, cheer up, now. There's nowt to be worried about!"

Charles looked at him in disbelief. "How can you say such a thing?"

"Look, lad. This is a problem that's easily solved, eh? I mean, you want to, right?"

Charles grunted.

"And you think she wants to?"

"I think so," he said hesitantly.

"Well, then!" Bill leaned back expansively. "What do you like to drink?"

"What?"

"Drink, man, drink."

"No I'm good for now, thanks."

"No; I mean, what's your favorite drink?"

Charles mulled over the question. "A good Pinot Gris I suppose."

"Good enough. Have a glass o' your wine, then, maybe two, just to get rid of your jitters. You've got stage fright is all."

Charles laughed at the unexpected analogy. "You may be right, Bill."

"And when have you known me not to be, mate?"

Charles lifted his glass in appreciation. "Never and that's a fact."

"Right you are lad. Right you are."

*CE*

"And?"

"And that's all."

"So you haven't…"

"No."

"Well. I knew our Charlie was a gentleman, but…"

"But it must be me."

"Stuff and nonsense. I've seen the way he looks at you, lass. And the kissing, it's...?"

"It's…yeah," grinned Elsie sheepishly.

"So you know he wants to, eh?"

"I think so. I mean, it's been in the air for weeks now, like thunder."

"Hmmm." Beryl smoothed her dishtowel thoughtfully for a long moment. She looked up at Elsie with a wicked grin. "Well, you do something."

"Me?"

"And why not? You're a grown woman, Els, and it's the 21st century, innit?"

"Yes, but-"

"But what?"

"Well, Charles, he's so…well, you know how he is."

"I know some of how he is," Beryl teased.

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I mean he's so old fashioned. What if he's got some mad idea about waiting an acceptable amount of time and I ruin it all by trying to speed things up a bit? Or what if he thinks me too forward or something?"

"Bah." Beryl dismissed that idea with an insouciant shrug of her shoulders. "As if he would turn you down. Likely he's only feeling a bit of pressure, eh lass? He's sort of made this out to be bigger'n it should be, if you get my meaning."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he's put so much weight into this courting business." She put her hands up to forestall any arguments; Elsie was becoming very touchy on the subject of Charles, which delighted Beryl no end. "Not that I don't approve 100 percent, love, I just mean you can carry something a bit too far, wouldn't you agree? Otherwise, why would we even be having this conversation." Beryl glanced up at Elsie cheekily. "We'd be having a very different sort of conversation, wouldn't we?"

"Oh, B. Go on with you."

"Go on with you! I expect Charles is probably wonderful in bed."

"B!"

"Don't tell me you've not thought about it."

"Well I might have done, but I can't believe it of you! Whatever would Bill say?"

"Oh he'd probably say the same, love. He's quite fond of our Charlie." Elsie laughed aloud, then began worrying her bottom lip. "What is it now, love?"

"Hmm. What? Oh, nothing."

"You're biting that lip again. What is it?"

"I guess I'm a bit nervous, B, about the whole thing."

"Well that's to be expected, innit? It's just like riding a bike, though. I'm sure it'll all come back to you."

Elsie snorted. "It's not been that long, B." Her gaze was pensive. "It's just…Richard was a different kettle of fish, that's all."

Now it was Beryl's turn to snort. "Too right, love. Best forget about him."

"Well that's just it. I mean, Richard liked certain things, wanted certain things, so I learned- well, you know." She ducked her chin. "So what if-"

"So you're worried about Charles? I daresay he's more concerned with what you want Els. That's his way." She reached out and squeezed Elsie's shoulder. "Come on, lass. You'll be fine. You'll both be fine. For heaven's sake! You're both grown adults, right? Look. Pick up a bottle of wine, or better yet, some of that whisky you're always going on about. Light a few candles, pour him a drink and Bob's your uncle it's all taken care of."

"You really think so?"

Beryl sighed dramatically. "For goodness sake, Elsie! D'ya want me and Bill there holding your hands or d'ya think you can manage this on your own?"

"Alright, alright. Maybe I will pick up some of that whisky. I've not had it in ages, anyway."

"And get something nice for yourself to wear, yes? Burn that ratty old bathrobe, alright?"

"It's not ratty!"

"It _is_ ratty. But something decent, Els!" She looked askance at Elsie. "But not too decent."

They both dissolved into laughter; Beryl wiped her tears on the hem of her apron and pointed her finger at Elsie. "So. Send him one of those text messages, then. Have him over tonight."

"Tonight!"

"And why not? It's early yet. You've got time to take care of those few things, haven't you?"

"I suppose."

"Go on, then. Enough of this flannelling. Take care of business, my girl."

Elsie bit her lip. "Do you really think so? I could be reading this all wrong."

Beryl sighed, this time in exasperation. "Gods, Elsie. How old are we? Get your phone."

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

Are you free tonight?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

/

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

I was wondering if you might like to come over.

Text msg from Charles Carson:

Yes1 What time/

Text msg from Elsie Hughes:

8?

Text msg from Charles Carson:

I'll bethere. What can I bring/

Elsie looked up from her phone at Beryl. "He can come. He's asking what to bring."

"Tell him to bring his toothbrush."

"Beryl!"

"I'll tell him," and she reaches for Elsie's phone.

"Get away with you. Be serious."

"Tell him you'll cook for him."

"That's a laugh! He knows I'm worthless in the kitchen."

Beryl rolled her eyes. "I'll make you something, you daft girl. He loves Shepherd's Pie. You can pick it up this afternoon."

"Honestly, B."

"The way to a man's heart, my dear…"

"So what should I tell him?"

"You can tell him he doesn't have to bring a thing." Elsie starts typing into her phone. "Except a toothbrush."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm not sure what it is about this story, but I begin writing for these two and they deviate from my plots. This chapter was just getting too long, so I decided to break it up. I cannot promise what will happen in the next update because these two derail all my careful planning. However, I think we will see a bump in the ratings as long as these two idiots cooperate with me. They are as recalcitrant as their early-twentieth century counterparts. Your reviews have been so wonderfully encouraging. Thank you for sticking with me. Whatever is happening between them is unfolding slowly, and I am as eager to find out as I hope you are. Special thanks to HappyHeart2 for her marvelous idea.**

Elsie hesitated, fingering the silk between her thumb and forefinger. She'd never shopped here before; it was ridiculous, sentimental even, but she hadn't wanted to shop for an evening with Charles at the same place she'd purchased items for her _assignations_ with Richard. All the pieces were of good quality and the prices were very reasonable, yet she'd been in the store for the better part of an hour and been unable to make a selection. _You're overthinking again, Els_, she told herself firmly. It was just…well, Beryl had told her to quit thinking about Richard, but it wasn't so easy. She'd spent nearly twenty years of her life with him. _Not with him_, she corrected herself. _For him or on him_, she thought darkly. He'd had such specific ideas for her, always wanted her to look and act a certain way, almost like a present waiting to be unwrapped. It was all staged, she'd come to realize. And she was the biggest prop of all. It sickened her to think of it now, and she didn't want any of that feeling to taint Charles, to taint the possibility of him and them. She hadn't wanted to confide too closely in Beryl, knowing as she did how proprietary she could be about the men she introduced Elsie to, and she was even more dogged when it came to Charles. Plus Beryl became very angry at the mere mention of Richard. _I don't even want to hear his name blah blah blah_. But she needed to talk about him. She wasn't _comparing_ Richard to Charles; it wasn't possible. Richard was like the dark of the night, quiet, stealthy…gone before you'd quite woken and been able to appreciate that it had even occurred. Charles was like the sun, simple and warm. Uncomplicated, perhaps. And yet, he wanted more from her than possibly any other man, any person, she'd ever known. Hidden depths, then. Of course she was closer to him than any other person, save Beryl. She smiled softly. How had that happened? Maybe he was a bit stealthy as well, quietly making himself at home in her life, on her terms. He was so accommodating, a trait that she enjoyed and simultaneously loathed. She'd once been that accommodating for Richard and she felt such contempt for herself. At times she enjoyed the power she exercised over Charles and wondered if she were at risk of becoming something of a tyrant in their relationship, making Charles into an object of contempt, or worse, pity. _Come off it, lass!_ She can hear Beryl as clearly as though she were in the store. _Pick out a lovely nightie. Pick out two! Just get on with it. He loves you; you can see that, can't you?_ And she could. She really could. She just couldn't see whether she loved him.

*CE*

Charles sat with a generous glass of his favorite Pinot. He'd stopped off on his way home from work and bought two bottles. One for personal use and one to carry to Elsie's flat. Eight o'clock. Eight o'clock. He swirled the wine in his glass, then took a large sip. Eight o'clock. He glanced at his own kitchen clock: 5:42. _Oh gods. I've got hours until I have to be there. I can't even leave until 7:15. I should've stopped off at Beryl's. I should've called Bill. What am I going to do?_ He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I could shave," he said aloud, to no one in particular. "I could do with a shower and a shave." _What about clothes?_ he thought. _I don't want to wear my suit. She teases me enough about them as it is_. She'd actually crowed when she discovered he wore braces. He hadn't told her, but he'd gone out the following weekend and purchased a few more casual clothes, or at least what the sales clerk promised him were more casual clothes. The woman in the store had encouraged him to buy a pair of blue jeans, but that was going too far. He could never wear jeans. Or shorts. He'd ended up with a few pair of casual pants and some plain, button-down shirts. He still wore a vest underneath, but she needn't know about that. _But that's the point, eh lad_? He could hear Bill's voice in his head. _She'll find out, won't she? You thought she'd had a laugh over the braces, eh?_ Maybe he would forego the vest, just this once. They had enough to get on with tonight. Or try to, at least. He drained his wine glass. _Too right. I'll have just enough time to shave and shower if I start now._

*CE*

Pissed. That was the word. It was a word that he disliked; it was too common, too crude. He'd often heard his students use it. _He was so pissed last night. Did you see so-and-so? He was so pissed he barely made it home. Pissed. Pissed. Pissed. _He couldn't be pissed. He'd only had two glasses of wine before he left_. Two large glasses_, he thought, _and on an empty stomach. A little tipsy, perhaps, _and he fought the urge to giggle. _Gods_! He drew himself up. He was certainly capable of riding the tube to Elsie's flat. He grasped the neck of the second bottle of wine he'd brought for tonight. He knew Elsie wasn't much of a cook; he only hoped the meal wouldn't be too dreadful. He quickly stifled that disloyal thought. Cooking wasn't everything; besides, he could cook for the both of them if it came down to it. Or they could eat out every meal. _You're getting ahead of yourself, old boy. Just take each step as it comes_. Hadn't he said that very thing to Els not that long ago? _Right_. Her stop was coming up; best be prepared. And he stood in readiness to take that next step.

*CE*

Between them, they'd made short work of the Shepherd's Pie that Beryl had made for them, plus an apple tart. He'd had two fingers, or was it four?, of that impeccable whisky that Elsie had insisted he try, and of course he'd had another glass, maybe two of the wine he favored so much. _It really did go so well with Shepherd's Pie_, he thought dreamily. He was sitting on the sofa, waiting for Elsie; she'd insisted on doing the washing up, insisted that he wait in the living room for her. He couldn't see why she was so adamant about clearing up right then, but he knew enough of Elsie to let her have her way when she got like this. No sense causing some silly argument about the gods damn dishes. He'd do a hundred dishes, later, if everything went to plan tonight. He could hear her moving about in the kitchen, and that familiar warmth flickered through him. He sighed contentedly; what was it about this woman? She could be very bad-tempered; he smiled in memory of the few sharp exchanges they'd had. She was stubborn as an ox and fiercely independent. She was lovely and intelligent and she moved with such a delicious ease that he could at times barely follow her down the street without…_without what, Charlie? Then why can you not? Steady on, lad. Steady on. Just relax and let nature take its course_. Oh gods; he must stop hearing Bill's voice in his ear. That will never do.

"Charles?"

Her soft lilt jolted him from his reverie. He'd actually closed his eyes. He can't have had that much to drink. He smiled up at her and shifted a bit on the sofa, and she smiled and sat down next to him, but not before handing him another glass of whisky.

"You looked quite comfortable there," she teased. "I almost didn't want to disturb you. Almost," she said slyly and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

He set his glass on the table next to the couch and put his arm around her shoulders. Gods, when would this get any easier? He felt like a schoolboy on his first date. Maybe another sip of whisky wouldn't be such a bad idea. She relaxed against him just as the pleasant burn of whisky traced its way down his throat and spread through his belly.

"I'm very glad you did," he rumbled and inhaled deeply. Gods, the smell of her, always so fresh and light. Lavender, maybe? One day he might get up the courage to ask her. For now, he needed all his courage for what he hoped lay ahead.

They sat for a few moments in companionable silence. It was one of the many things she enjoyed about being with Charles. She didn't feel that same awkward compulsion to fill the space with meaningless chatter. They talked of ideas, memories; they argued, fretted, teased, but it was all to some purpose. She only hoped she'd laid in enough whisky to relax them both for what lay ahead.

*CE*

Somehow, they were lying on the couch and he couldn't tell where he left off and she began.

"Charles?" she whispered. "Would you think me quite forward if I suggested we move to the bedroom?"

He couldn't breathe; he drew back to look in her eyes and it was all there: passion, desire, reluctance, fear. He nodded, too afraid to speak, and he pushed himself off her as gently as possible and helped her to her feet. He was a trifle unsteady, but the sight of her, flushed, tousled, was all he needed to regain his balance. She was worrying that bottom lip again and he nearly groaned aloud. He was sure she had no idea how appealing, how attractive that little habit was to him. It was something so uniquely her, a very slight tell of vulnerability in an otherwise impenetrable suit of armor. She took his hand and led him along the hall to her bedroom.

She fussed nervously with the bedclothes, turning them down in an effort to calm herself. Why was she so nervous? She certainly wanted him, but somehow everything turned awkward between them. Perhaps once they'd made love, things could be easy between them. She doubted anything less would dispel the awkward edginess that characterized their relationship.

"I…I bought something." She faltered as she tried to work out how to go about this.

"Well that's good then." His voice boomed in an attempt at false heartiness. "I didn't bring anything. I just didn't think, I mean, I wasn't sure, I hadn't wanted to presume, of course, and I didn't really know about any sort of protection you might-"

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean that part's all taken care of," _Oh Gods this is worse than awkward. Oh sweet Mary mother of God_. She took a deep breath. "I mean I bought something to wear," she finished shyly and stared at a very interesting shadow on the wall.

"Oh." All sorts of attractive and very inappropriate visions began filling his mind.

"Would you mind if I…I mean would you like me to…to change, then?"

He cleared his throat and fixed her with a piercing gaze that caused her stomach to drop. "What I want, Elsie, is for you to be comfortable." He took a step towards her. "That's all I want." _But Gods is the room spinning? I am not pissed. I am not pissed. I am not pissed._

She smiled, then, a real one, the kind that he'd been lucky enough to see on occasion, and took another halting step towards him. "There is one thing I would like to do," she said huskily.

"And what is that?" When she looked up at him like that, he was lost, he would do anything she asked, anything at all.

"I'd like to brush my teeth."

_Oh gods damn. Why would she want to brush her teeth? Should I brush mine? You can't, you silly ass, you didn't carry a toothbrush. Oh gods dammit all._ She turned to smile at him over her shoulder.

"I happened to pick up an extra toothbrush, just in case."

His heart lifted; _I love this woman. I love her and I cannot be without her._ "Perhaps I will as well," he said and followed her to the bathroom sink.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: WARNING: M-RATED chapter ahead. I don't know. I just do. not. know. I hope this relatively quick update is acceptable. I'm not sure who's driving this story, but it sure ain't me. On a side note, my obsession with these two knows no bounds. Send help…**

Chapter 17

Later, when each of them had had a chance to reflect and reflect again on that night, the memory of them calmly brushing their teeth at the bathroom sink astonished them both. They caught each other's eye in the mirror, furtively at first, then openly laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Charles could not believe how relaxed he felt, confident, even, in spite of the nausea bubbling up inside him anytime he accidentally brushed his tongue. He was even able to spit toothpaste into the sink in front of her, this gorgeous woman who had bought something special to wear _for him_, who had _planned_ to make love with him.

Charles rinsed his toothbrush and laid it carefully on the edge of the sink. He cleared his throat nervously and hovered near Elsie, not wanting to crowd her, but unwilling to retreat too far. She finished brushing her teeth, daintily wiped her mouth with a hand towel, then turned to face Charles, not quite able to meet his gaze. He looked down at her lovingly and gently, so as not to startle her, reached out to finger a lock of her hair. She looked up at him then and he leaned down to kiss her tenderly.

*CE*

He'd expected a frenzy of passion, imagined them tearing at the other's clothes in their haste to tumble into bed together, but it was nothing like that. It was quiet, tentative. He in particular was unsure how to approach her, what she might want from him, and she was clearly unwilling to take the lead. He put a hand to the small of her back and gently guided her to the bed. He urged her to sit, then he knelt in front of her and began removing her shoes.

"Charles, you don't-" but a look from him caused the rest of the words to die in her throat. This Charles was different, somehow, no less courtly, and yet more dignified, masterful, even, than she'd ever known him to be. It soothed her in some strange way; she had no reason to be anxious. She simply laid that thought aside for later. He was stroking her calves now, now running his hands up her shins and knees to rest on her thighs. He sat up on his knees, scowling a bit (he couldn't help it, but that only endeared him to her more), and pressed against her, as lightly as possible, in order to stand. Somehow she understood that she needed to lie back on the bed, to move so as to make room for him. He kicked his own shoes off, then began unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. She made to pull her sweater up over her head, but he put his hand over hers. It was as if he had stepped outside himself, perhaps it was the alcohol or perhaps it was her. He was certainly intoxicated by her, perhaps she had cast a spell over him, over them both for this evening, for always.

She seemed to know instinctively what he wanted, that he wanted to… not control, not dominate, but to experience and always to please. She could hear only the sounds of their breaths escaping, the ridiculously loud rush of her own blood ringing through her ears. She was antsy, impatient to begin and therefore end, but also curiously calm, knowing that the coming storm would drive out all other thought. She had expected reticence, anxiety, a certain awkward fumbling that would take time to cure, but there was none of that. He carefully, expertly removed her sweater and slacks and let out a very flattering exhale when he finally saw her in just a bra and panties. He reached out to touch her, but looked to her for permission first. She smiled at him tenderly and his kind gesture nearly had her admitting that she loved him. His touch was reverent; he fingered the material of her brassiere, gently stroked the scalloped edges, fondled the tops of her breasts, placed gentle kisses along the creamy swell.

Suddenly she wanted to feel his skin against hers; she reached eager hands to his shirt and began to unbutton. He exhaled a long, shuddering breath and pulled his shirt free of his trousers and pulled the buttons free from the bottom, meeting her fingers in the middle. She helped ease his shirt off, then began unbuttoning his trousers. He pushed them down, then kicked his legs free of them. Finally, finally he was able to embrace her and the feel of her skin was like silk. He could see the faint flush of desire that colored her neck and shoulders, her breasts. He fingered one of the straps, then reached around her back to unclasp her bra. He wanted nothing to separate them; he wanted to feel her surrounding him. She angled her way out of her bra, shimmied out of her panties and pulled his undershorts down at the same time. There was a long moment where neither breathed, then Charles grasped her bottom, rolled on top of her and slowly entered her.

Elsie's ear tingled with the vibration of the long, contented sigh Charles breathed. He had gathered her to him and buried his face in her neck, moving his lips along her collarbone, her shoulder, back up her neck, finally using his tongue to trace the shell of her ear. She shivered involuntarily and she could feel his mouth grin against her neck. His substantial bulk moving over her was oddly reassuring; he was here, he was real, this was really happening. So much of what happened between them had a dreamlike quality; Charles sometimes made her think of those fairy stories from her youth, of a good and wholesome man come on a quest. She hadn't thought herself in need of rescue, but perhaps she had been enthralled to…not a wicked man, but certainly a selfish and unthinking one. As Charles rocked ceaselessly against her, murmuring her name and plotting a course across her skin, she thought again of all those small gestures, especially those small gestures, those so easy to discount because of their frequency, and her heart lifted at the thought that such a good, kind person wanted her and that she wanted him. She wanted him, not as a friend, not as a lover, not to possess him or rely on him; she just wanted him. He was fresh and clean and whole, and he was hers. She began to move under him, to stroke his back, to trace the knobby pattern of his spinal cord down to its tail, and it was her turn to smile wickedly as _he_ shuddered. She brought her legs around his hips and clasped her ankles, finding that dark, purposeful rhythm that drove them on toward the edge until they tumbled over the precipice together.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Fluff alert ahead. I blame Halloween. Have a wonderful and safe evening!**

Chapter 18

His head was ripping, absolutely ripping, and his tongue felt about 10 stone and covered in some awful furry substance he did not want to contemplate. Cautiously, he opened one eye. So far, so good. He opened the other eye. _Right, mate. Carry on, then_. He gently, so gently turned his face to the light that streamed in through the windows. _Steady on, lad. You can do it_. He wanted desperately to roll over on his side and cradle the woman who was blissfully, loudly sleeping on his right, but his stomach simply wouldn't allow it. _Right. Deep breaths, old boy. In and out. In and out_. The roiling motion stopped for the moment and he felt himself go slack with relief. _That's all right, then. Easy does it_. There would be no getting out of bed for the moment. How could he have drunk so much last night? Good lord, he must have had he couldn't remember how many wee drams of whisky and of course he'd started on the wine before he'd even arrived. It's a wonder, really, he was able to perform at all last night. _But you did_…and a sly smile played across his lips. Elsie had certainly seemed to enjoy herself, and for him, the reality of making love with her far outstripped the woefully inadequate fantasies he'd harbored. He hadn't expected her to be so shy, nor so eager. It was a unique combination and it both thrilled and titillated him. He had wondered, given his lack of recent experience, whether she would take the initiative in the bedroom, but other than getting them there (for which he was deeply grateful), she'd left the rest up to him, and that had given him a curiously powerful feeling. She had been so endearingly reticent at first, then more assertive as she grew more aroused, well. He could feel himself lifting to her even now, in spite of the nausea and his aching head. _Damn and blast it all_, he thought irritably. _If only I'd paced myself. I needn't have drunk that much. Damn near ruined the whole day!_ Speaking of, what was the time? He fumbled around the nightstand for his newfangled phone. He had a hazy memory of pulling it from his pocket and stowing it there for the night. _Ah, yes_, he thought, as his hand brushed against cold hard metal. He gingerly brought the lit display into alignment with his face. Ye gods! 8:30! He had a class at 10. He tried to shift himself up, but it was no use. There was absolutely no way he would make it to the university today. He'd be lucky to make it to the loo. He risked a glance at Elsie; she was still sleeping soundly. He did not want to disturb her; the only peace belonging to this moment was her sleeping presence, and he would not wake her if he could help it. A text message, then. He could send a text message to the department's receptionist asking her to cancel his classes for today. He was definitely ill. He was becoming rather adept at this texting business. It seemed to be Elsie's preferred method of communicating. He'd never actually sent a text to the department secretary. Hang on, could he send him a text?

"Bugger!" and immediately winced, not only because of his aching head, but because Elsie began to stir next to him. She rolled over sleepily and pushed the hair back from her eyes. Of course she would look wonderful in the morning, too. He probably looked a wreck. He willed himself not to reach up and smooth his hair.

She stretched, nudging him lightly on the leg as she pushed her legs straight out. She wasn't quite awake yet; he could see that little light of recognition hadn't flickered across her eyes yet. She let out an amazing, jaw-cracking yawn and turned to face him. Yes, there it was. That sudden jolt of memory. _Yes, we did in fact sleep together last night_. She clutched the sheet more tightly to her breast. "Charles! Good morning. Oh, gods, what you must think of me."

Now he was well and truly puzzled. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"I mean, this, us, last night!"

He started to feel the familiar anxiety rise in his chest. Oh no. Oh no. Not now. He didn't think he could bear to part with her now. Not after last night. "You…you…you didn't want to?" he asked hesitantly.

"Want to? Of course I wanted to! I just meant I'd sort of thought you wanted to."

"I did!" he replied hastily.

"No, I mean I thought you wanted to be the one to…to begin things," she finished awkwardly.

"Elsie, I don't understand."

"I know you have old fashioned ideas and being courted is lovely and I sort of thought that you would want to-"

"To take charge," he asked gently. She nodded shyly. "Well, I dunno what to say except I'm very pleased, Elsie and I hope you are too."

"It was rather lovely, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," he replied, rather more gruffly than he'd intended but gods, talking to Bill was bad enough. He didn't think he'd be able to stomach talking to Elsie about it. Making love was something you did in the dark of night, and although he'd never miss an opportunity to make love with Elsie, he didn't exactly fancy talking about it. He didn't have the words. Not proper ones, anyway.

She relaxed then and moved in closer to him, gesturing to the phone. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, this," and he grinned sheepishly. "Well, I have class later on this morning and I, well, to tell you the truth, I drank rather a lot last night and I'm not feeling so well this morning."

Elsie looked at him sympathetically. "I did wonder," she said, grinning.

"I don't normally, as a rule, but…"

"But?" She prompted gently.

"Well I was a bit nervous. I thought there was a possibility. I mean, I didn't plan anything, I just sort of-"

"Charles, it's alright." She laughed and nudged him with her shoulder. "I think I know what kind of person you are by now. I should hope so, at any rate. Go on, then," She gestured to the phone. "What do you need to do, then? I presume you're not going to classes today?"

He smiled down at her. "You presume correctly. I just need to send an email or something letting them know." He stared intently at the screen and fumbled across the keypad.

"Here. Give it here and I'll send it for you."

"Would you?"

"Come on, then."

He handed her the phone and her fingers flew across the screen. "You wanted to send an email, yes?"

"Yes."

"Alright. To whom?"

"What?"

"I mean who is the recipient of the email? Do you have the address?"

"Address?"

"Charles?" She stared at him.

"Yes?"

"You have sent emails before, haven't you?"

"On occasion."

"And have you sent any from your phone?"

"Let me think."

"If you have to think about it you haven't. Where is the email going?"

"I need to send it to the department secretary."

"Do you know his or her address?"

"I don't."

Elsie sighed theatrically. "Alright, then. I'll have a go at finding it on the university's web site."

"How will you do that?"

"Oh, Charles. You're hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."

Charles watched as she fiddled with the phone. He cleared his throat anxiously. Good lord; his head was still throbbing. "Did you have plans today?"

"Hmm? Oh I've a bit of work to do. Nothing much."

He fiddled with the bedsheet. _This is ridiculous! I'm lying in bed with this woman and I can't ask her a simple question! What is the matter with you? Just ask!_ "So you don't have plans this evening?"

A coy half-smile played across her lips. "Well actually, I might have plans, but I'm not sure yet."

"Oh."

He sounded so forlorn that Elsie couldn't help but laugh. "My plans are with you, Charles, if you'll have me. For heaven's sake. After last night? Did you really think I'd have other plans? What you must think of me!"

He looked at her gravely. "I think you are a beautiful, intelligent woman who could have her pick of blokes."

She ducked her chin and mumbled indistinctly.

"What was that?" he asked leaning in closer.

She turned her face away for a moment. "You'd better let me finish this email for you or they'll send out a search party. Never miss a class, do you?" Her tone was sharp.

"I seldom do," he replied cautiously, uncertainty coursing through him.

She turned her face to him, peering up at him intently. "So you're one who follows through, eh?" she said softly.

He stared at her; it was, he thought, like a moment from a film, from one of those lovely, beautiful films he had watched so often. He was gazing deeply into her eyes, searching, probing. She refused to look away; she was looking for something too. He was certain he loved her, more than certain, but he couldn't be sure about her feelings. Yes, they had made love and yes it was wonderful, beautiful, all those things, yet he had had to restrain himself from saying the words, the actual words I love you. And he wasn't certain that she had. He thought she might love him, he thought she could love him, but he thought he would have to be patient. Well, he could do that. He could wait. He could wait for as long as it took her to discover for herself that they belonged to one another. He had never, ever felt for another woman what he felt for Elsie, not even as a young man, a passionate man even. Even so, he sensed she was not able to accept his words yet. He would have to show her his devotion. And he could start right now. He leaned down softly, so softly, and brushed his lips against hers.

"I am," he whispered back, and she rose to kiss him again.

He pulled back reluctantly. "If this were a Hollywood film, I'd have miraculously recovered from my hangover and we'd stay in bed all day." He smiled at her and shifted an arm about her shoulders. "But, my dear, this is real life, and this sorry, broken down old man needs more time to recover from the drink." He could feel her smile against his shoulder.

"Could I fix you something? Tea? Scrambled eggs? Toast?"

"Not right now, but thank you. Did you send that email off?"

"I did."

"Good. Maybe we could go back to sleep, then?"

"Maybe so."

He turned himself gingerly toward her and she curved herself into him. He cursed himself again for having had too much to drink the night before, but nothing could be done about it now. Perhaps he would feel better after a short nap. He settled his chin on her head and curled his arm about her waist.

"Sweet dreams, Charles."

"You too love," he mumbled sleepily.

She smiled at that, a warm, hopeful smile.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Apologies for the unconscionable delay; we are trying to sell our home and are in the midst of difficult negotiations. We hope to close the day before Thanksgiving. My mind has been so preoccupied that I've been unable to settle down enough to finish this update. It is short, but it is finished. Thanks for sticking with me; your reviews have been a bright spot in an otherwise dreary landscape. **

Chapter 19

He smelled something wonderful. His stomach rumbled in response. He was hungry, actually hungry. Oh, gods, what a relief. He sat up gingerly. His head still ached a bit, but otherwise he seemed to be fine. He moved his head from side to side cautiously. Still fine. He angled himself over to the side of the bed and swung his feet on the floor. _Ok, old boy. Ok_. He swiveled his head around. Clothes. He needed clothes. His face burned to think he'd slept without clothes, slept next to Elsie without clothes. It was foolish, but that seemed even more intimate than making love with her. _What a world_. He spied his trousers by the foot of the bed. He only hoped his shorts were tangled up inside them. Leaning down proved a bit difficult, but in the end he got there. Now for his shirt. He turned, his eyes sweeping the room. Ah, there, beside the bathroom sink. Good lord!

"Hullo?"

Charles jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"Oh-! He caught himself just in time. "You gave me a start."

"I'm sorry; I was just wondering if you'd gotten up. You've been asleep for ages."

"Have I really? What time is it?"

"Going on four o'clock now."

"What! Why didn't you wake me?"

"I thought it best to let you sleep. You weren't feeling so well this morning, you know."

He grinned sheepishly. "True enough. But I've made a nuisance of myself, staying here all day-"

She cut him off briskly. "Nonsense, Charles. You weren't a bit of trouble." She smiled at him roguishly. "I've brought in some food. I hope you're hungry?"

He laughed. "I am, actually. It smells wonderful."

"It's takeout from place down the lane. Chinese."

He smiled. "It's not too early for you to eat?"

"Apparently not. Come on, I've got it all warming now." She turned and started out the door, then stopped short.

"Elsie?"

"I've just thought of something." She turned to look at him. "Beryl's going to be absolutely bloody awful about this."

"About what?" asked Charles, puzzled.

"About this-" She gestured between the two of them with her hands. "Us!"

"Oh. Right." He scrubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Elsie?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind terribly if I showered?"

"Oh! Of course not. Not at all. Let me get you some things."

She bustled about efficiently; that familiar warm feeling came over him again. She was doing this for _him_. He could feel a foolish grin threatening; he found he didn't care. He looked fondly at back as she crouched beneath him, sorting through the cabinet under the sink. She turned brightly to him.

"Alright. I've found you a towel and washcloth and a brand new bar of soap." She smiled up at him. "I'll have everything ready in just a few minutes, then?"

Charles nodded. "I'll only be a moment."

"Ta then."

"Alright."

He watched her as she walked through the door, pulling it closed behind her. It had been a long time, donkey's years, since anyone had looked after him like this. _Come on, lad. You're getting maudlin. It's just a towel and a bar of soap. Don't read too much into it_. But even as he admonished himself, his traitorous heart lifted at the thought that she had let him in.

*CE*

They sat close on the couch, his arm around her shoulders. Supper had been eaten and the washing up done. Charles had insisted on doing it himself.

_I've contributed nothing to this lovely evening. At least let me clear up._ She hadn't fought him on it. It had been so long since anyone had wanted to do something for her. She tried to think of the times that Richard had ever done anything for her out of simple kindness. Possibly in the beginning, but even then his motives were suspect. But Charles was different. Yes, he was shy and awkward at times; some of the notions he clung to were quaintly anachronistic. He could be very…_particular_ about certain things; she smiled thinking of all the times he subtly maneuvered himself on the outside as they walked down the street. He could be shockingly rigid in some of his thinking. His views on the cult of celebrity were privately amusing and she would never, ever provoke him on the subject of reality telly again. But all of those quirks merely contributed to the endearingly kind man sitting next to her on the couch. His solid warmth was very comforting to her; even before last night she had taken pleasure from small gestures: leaning against him, taking his arm whenever possible. Later, when he finally kissed her and allowed her to return those kisses, she had been surprised to discover that he was warm, passionate even. She realized that she had mistaken his shy bumbling for inexperience. But nothing that had happened between them could have prepared her for last night. She was convinced that she would be the one to initiate sex, but other than inviting him into her bed, he had quietly but unmistakably taken control. She had gone curiously shy, girlish even. His quiet assurance, almost reverent attitude toward her made her feel uncertain, unsure how to proceed. He had calmly, _lovingly_, she thought; the word came to her mind unbidden and it frightened her. Sex was one thing; she loved Richard, but she never thought of what they did together as making love. Even at her weakest, she never fooled herself into thinking that Richard loved her. What existed between them was passionate and hungry, angry sometimes, fraught with illicit desire and the frisson that comes from doing something forbidden, but never love. His touch never made her feel cherished, like a delicate piece of china: expensive, sought and worth protecting. Somehow, Charles had made her feel all of those things without saying a word. He looked at her, really looked at her. She scowled. _This is all nonsense, lass. You're making too much out of nothing._

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Charles' voice startled her out of her reverie. "What?"

He laughed nervously. "Only you seemed a bit lost there for a moment. I wondered what you were thinking."

"Nothing; just thinking."

"I don't mean to pry."

"Not at all. I was just thinking of last night."

"You were?"

"Yes."

"And?" It was all he could do to keep the squeak from his voice.

"And I was wondering what time your first class is in the morning."

"It's not til eleven. Why?"

"Good. Then you won't have to rush in the morning." He turned to look at her in surprise, his mouth curving in an effort to speak, but she stopped him with a kiss. He reached for her, but she drew back for a moment. "You don't have to go home, do you?"

He shook his head. "Not tonight."

"Good." She shifted herself over him, straddling his lap. "I was hoping you didn't."


End file.
